Colin Harrison: The Havana Room

Yes, knowing what I know about my former client Jay Rainey, and considering that matchbook with one torn match stub, which I still possess, it is my opinion here and now and forever that he quickly took his own life before it was taken from him slowly, and I would be very hard pressed not to see his gesture as paradoxically self-affirmative, a certain gift to himself even, but no small tragedy for those few of us who knew the man, however briefly.

Judith had said she'd be staying in a midtown hotel, and would call when she and Timothy arrived. I tried not to expect anything but the worst. "It'd be nice to feel the city around me," she added, and I thought I heard a wistfulness in her voice. "Timothy wants to see you, so much."

When she got in, I waited for her call. I knew she'd be nervous, as would I. Finally, the phone rang in the evening.

"I want to see you," I told her.

Judith didn't respond to this directly. "So much has happened," she finally said.

I had to agree with that.

"So you're working these days?"

"I recently took a job with a new firm," I told her, making it appear more substantial than it was, and Judith made a sound of surprised appreciation.

"But it's not a situation where you end up with $852 million," I added.

"Yeah, well," she sighed. But she didn't elaborate.

I tried to think of something to say.

"You know, Bill," she began again, "basically I freaked out."

"Right."

"Are you seeing anyone?" she ventured.

I waited to answer this. "Yes," I finally said.

"Oh," she responded, a little flustered. "Do you mind- I mean, it's not my business, Bill- but do you mind telling me who you're seeing?"

"I don't mind."

"Well… who?"

"You," I said. "I'm seeing you. Tomorrow, at 3 p.m., in the tearoom of the Plaza Hotel."

Judith was pleased to hear this, I could tell. I still knew her, still heard everything in each breath. "Good… that's good," she answered, and I thought to myself that it might be very nice to see her, to look her in the eyes, to find her in the bustle and hurry of the city, to pick her out of the crowd and to stop in front of herand embrace.

And I was right. There they were the next day, coming toward me. Judith walked resolutely, I could tell, and Timothy had a baseball glove on his hand, the one I'd sent him, and was tossing and catching a ball. I stood to greet them. Judith's body felt familiar. So did Timothy's, though he was much taller. I crushed him to my chest, as Judith watched. It'd be a matter of forgiveness, on all sides. Maybe it wasn't likely. Maybe it was beyond us. But maybe it also wasn't unthinkable. Things stranger than that have happened, after all, things much stranger than that.