If You Know What's Good For You

  A man reclines in an armchair, cigarette dangling from his left hand. On the table next to him, a black telephone is wedged between a glass of Bourbon and a wad of cash. He is captivated by the photograph he twirls in his right hand. It shows him flashes of a smiling girl every time it turns. The phone rings. He takes a puff of his cigarette and answers it.
  “Hello?”
  “Hello”, a woman’s voice answers.
  He untangles the phone cord from his shirt cuff.
  “It’s-”
  “I know.”
  “How have you been?”          
  “Fine.”
  “It’s been a long time.”
  “Yes. Seven years.”
  Silence. A woman walks from the door behind the armchair and over to the man. He hands her the wad of cash without looking up. As she leaves, the door slams behind her.
  “Sorry, is this a bad time?”
  “No.. No. It was only... anyways, why are you calling?
  “It’s just-I’ve been hearing alot about you lately.”
  “You have.”
  “Well it’s a quite a big deal, isn’t it?”
  “What is?” he asks.
  “Oh, don’t be coy. Your promotion. Youngest partner ever, right?”
  “Yes.”
  “It must’ve been difficult.”
  “Not really.”
  “I mean, in six years. How’d you pull that off?”
  “Seven. Seven years.
  He switches the phone to his left ear. He picks up the glass of whiskey and downs it.
  “A-Anyways I actually called on behalf of Martha.”
  “Martha who?”
  “She’s a new friend. Her husband works at  the firm.”
  He puts the glass down on the table.
  “You see, she was telling me all about the fuss around you and I said “Really? John Cramer? I knew him when he was young!”
  Silence.
  “Well, you know how women are. She just would not stop pestering me to invite you over for dinner! “
  She waits a beat.
  “So will you?”
  “Will I what?”
  “Come to dinner.”
  “Will he be there?”
  “Who?”
  “You know who.”
  “Oh, why does it even matter?  He is my-”
  “Will he be there?”
  “No.”
  “Why not?”
  “He’s on a business trip in Paris. He travels a lot.”
  “So you called me.”
  “I called you because Martha-”
  “Don’t.”
  “Don’t what?”
  “Lie to me.”
  “I’m not lying.”
  “I know when you’re lying.”
  “Well, then, you’re wrong.”
  He reaches under the table to find the bottle and pours himself another glass. He puts out his cigarette in the cap.
  “Fine. Listen, will you please come by the house Friday?”
  “No.”
  “If you’re too busy, we could grab lunch. I know this wonderfu-”
  “No.”
  “Come on. I haven’t seen you in ages. we need to catch up. The last time I saw you-”
  “The last time you saw me I had a job cleaning your father’s car.”
  “Yes. But you did it. You’re not cleaning cars anymore. We need to celebrate.”
  “We don’t need to do anything.”
  “John, why won’t you just let me-”
  “Do what? Give some bullshit apology? What more do you want from me? I gave you everything. What more do you want from me?”
  She takes a deep breath. He puts his head in his hand.
  “I couldn’t do it. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t be able to look at you.” His voice is strained.
  “John-”
  “You disgust me.”
  “Please, John-”
  “Don’t call me again.”
  He places the phone on the receiver. He holds the photograph of the smiling girl up to the lamp. He takes his lighter from his pocket. As the flame licks the edges of the photograph he pulls it away so all that’s left is a small streak of black. He puts down the lighter and standing up, tucks the photo into the pocket of his white button-down shirt.