What’s the last new thing you learned how to do? I mean really learned how to do and do well.

She does not turn to him. She remains blank faced towards her drink.

C’mon. Tell me something interesting you couldn’t do, like, three years ago.

No comment, she says to herself, still reeling from her previous reveal.

He tries one more time to bring her back.

Ok, I’ll go first. For me, it’s playing the piano. Actually, cocktail party playing. I mean I can put a few keys together and pretend like I can really play. The key, so to speak, for me is to use numbers instead of keynotes on the piano. In other words, you put 1 at the G key and continue on to label each subsequent key with a number until you get to 8 and you can play almost anything. At least in pop music.

The first stringI learned was Linkin Park’s “In the End”. That’s simple. The opening at least. It goes like this.

He taps the bartop as if on a keyboard, humming along as he “plays”.

1 44 3 222 231

44 3 222 231

44 3 222 231

44 3 22 44 5

My go-to these days is “Right Here Waiting for You”. He sings along this time

“Wherever you go. Whatever you do. I’ll be right there waiting for you.”

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I actually gotta be a little careful with that one. I’ve had a couple of wives’ clubs swoon a bit on that one. And you know, their dudes can get a little jealous, especially if it’s one of those cocktail parties for my wife and her co-workers where I don’t really know anyone.

My show stopper, however, is “Hallelujah”. It’s …

… he stops upon seeing her motionless, reactionless, still fixated on her glass.

He thinks of putting his arms around her. He thinks of telling her that it’s going to be ok. But he doesn’t want to be ingenuine. He has no idea if there is any truth to that.

How do you tell your husband of 20+ years that you were sexually abused at 12 years old? Even if your marriage was stronger than ever, that kind of news can shake your very foundations. You would have to have every conversation you ever had over again, he thinks to himself.

Not knowing what else to do, he takes out his wallet. He tries to get the attention of the bartender to ask for the check.

I took care of it, she says before finishing her drink.

Excuse me, he asks politely.

She takes her hotel key card and puts it in her purse and then stands. She looks to the mirror behind the bar and straightens the lines of her pantsuit. She then walks towards the exit.

He remains in his barstool. Stunted. He figured the night was about to end, but he didn’t expect such an abrupt ending.

She stops at the end of the bar.

You coming?

He fumbles as he gets up. He turns to his chair to see if he dropped anything. He pats his pockets. He feels his phone and his wallet.

He sees her start to walk away again. He quickly catches up to her.

Where are we going?

I have no idea where I’m going, she says with certain truth.

Looks like we’re heading in the same direction, he replies with a smile and a hope that that line could help ease the tension swirling about them. He opens the exit door for her.

Her hardened facade finally eases a bit. She allows herself to smile back as she walks through the door and onto the street. He quickly catches up again, now side by side with her as they walk aimlessly down the street.

You still want to know what I learned?

Excuse me, he asks politely like before.

Your question earlier about something I learned recently.

Oh right. Yeah sure. What’s that?

I learned “We become what we think about."

He runs his hand through his hair, not sure how to react to that one.

That’s a little deeper than …

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She smiles back.

That may be deeper than Richard Marx, but it’s certainly not more complex than Leonard Cohen and … what was that last one?

“Fragil” by Yahritza y Su Esencia.

Well, well, she says impressed. I don’t know exactly what your motive was in learning how to play the piano, but you thought it into existence. You believed it into existence. Good for you.

I actually tiktok’ed into existence.

She laughs.

Thanks for staying out with me, she says as she grabs his arm and wraps hers about his. I really needed this.

He places his hand warmly over hers to secure her close, telling her, likewise, without having to say the word.

They walk arm and arm in silence for a few –

– she suddenly stops them and detaches herself.

Ok, listen. This is the last thing I am going to say about my husband. But first, you have to tell me something about your wife.

His face turns into a question mark.

You have to tell me something beautiful about your wife. Something that’ll make me think twice about … she motions to their arm and arm walk just now … that. Doing that again.

His face remains –

– tell me something about your wife. It shouldn’t be that –

– she put pepper in her ketchup on our first date.

It is her face’s turn to morph into a question mark.

She then smiles as she realizes this is exactly what she asked for.

What did you take her to McDonald’s?

No, he says, smiling back.

We grew up in Jersey. We were down the shore. On the boardwalk. We stopped to share a plate of fries.

Look at you going all out.

He smirks at her sarcasm, then continues, She moved our fries aside with her spork, then she grabbed a packet of pepper. She shook it to move the grains to the back (he motions the act) Then she opened the packet.

He is happy to see her enjoying his story.

Before she poured the contents onto the ketchup, she looked up and smiled at me. Just like you are now.

She grabs his hand and walks him into the lobby of the adjacent high-end hotel.

Uh, what’s happening, he asks.

She doesn’t answer. She does continue to lead them through the elaborately decorative lobby and onto the elevator tower.

Where are we?

She continues to ignore him, taking out her hotel key card and waving it over a keypad near the center elevators. She then presses a button.

“3” dings in an overhead screen. The corner elevator “3” arrives quickly. She ushers them inside it.

Once the door closes, she finally speaks, “Success is the progressive realization of a worthy ideal.”

He tries not to show it, but he is more than a little dizzy from the last few whirlwind moments.

Excuse … He decides to skip asking politely this time and asks abruptly, What?!?!

My husband, the CEO, he said that earlier today during your cybersecurity conference. He also said that 10 years ago he was a bartender and now he leads a multinational that successfully brings together teams to accomplish the mission of rolling out endpoint protection to thousands of computers across dozens of Fortune 500s.

This explanation does nothing to unlock his face’s WTH mode.

None of that is true. That’s the thing. That’s the goddam thing. I’ve been holding back this secret of my fucked up childhood while he has been spewing out these lies day to day to day.

The elevator continues to rise. Though now in stilted silence.

He looks at her hand. The one with the hotel key. Then he looks at her.

The elevator doors ding! When they open, he breathes a sigh of relief upon seeing that they have arrived at her hotel’s high rise bar. He was afraid she was leading them to her room.

She walks into the bar. He gladly follows this time, desperate for a drink. That is until she stops them again.

That’s the last thing I am going to tell you about my husband. And that’s the last thing you are going to tell me about your wife.

She waves her hotel key in the air. Chekhov’s Gun, they have nicknamed it.

You go over there by the piano. Actually sit on the piano player’s bench and get ready to play me something while I go get us some drinks.

He finds himself following her orders. Not sure where this night is going to go next.

He sits at the piano and looks about. There are a few more patrons here than there were at his hotel lobby bar. But not much more. The dozen or so are all coupled up like his bar was.

He next looks at the piano keys. Unsure at first what to play.

He thinks of his go to, but instead he begins to play “Hallelujah”, which relaxes him.

356 6 653 3

356 6 653

431 11

She comes over and kisses him on the cheek as she places their Old Fashions on the stand next to the piano.

Not that one, sweetie. The other one.

To this request, he smiles. He follows her lead once more and begins to play “Fragil”.

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She slides close to him and leans her head onto his shoulder. They begin to sing together, now beginning a brand new night together.

Perdón

Es que no sé la razón

Y metí el corazón

En donde no debía

No vi la señal de que iba en contravía

Fui yo

El que se ilusionó

Y aunque no funcionó

Yo te entregué mi vida

No me pidas disculpas, que la culpa es mía