He was waiting on the armchair; he told me to pour myself a glass of wine and sit on the sofa.He was waiting on the armchair; he told me to pour myself a glass of wine and sit on the sofa. There were even little sandwiches. He had never made little sandwiches before. Little formal ones. I was famished, but puzzled over the sandwiches. They were so uncharacteristic. "How do you feel?" he asked. "Okay," I said, "maybe a little chilly." A little attempted underwear-less humor there. Very little. He sipped his wine and watched me eat without expression. Between mouthfuls, I couldn't seem to stop talking. "So, when do we start?" I asked, in a cheerful, businesslike voice, as though we were going to paint the living room or something. |