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Monday, March 26th, 2007“Easily,” Michael said, setting his money on the table. “Once at dinner with five accountants last year, a fist fight broke out over someone having to pay 14 cents more than their share of the bill. That was at the end of tax season, so everyone was under stress anyway. But that is what the fight was about, 14 cents.”
They started down St. Germaine the opposite direction of the other couple.
“It’s crazy to fight over 14 cents or one unpaid drink bill,” Barbara said.
“To me, it makes perfect sense,” Michael said. “You owe a fixed amount of money or you don’t. If you don’t pay it you are an asshole. But why you and I are wandering around Paris, all alone, without our spouses, who we came with on a tour, is a mystery to me.”
Barbara put her arm under Michael’s as they stepped off a curb. “We’ll be all right in Rome tomorrow,” Barbara said. “We’ll be back on the tour. We’ll try to have fun. We’ll shock everybody.”
Michael felt her arm against his and it felt like a friend’s arm held out to steady him. Had he misread the sexual neediness he perceived earlier when her finger touched his forearm or was something more complex going on, something he had never encountered with a women before?
“Did I tell you?” Michael asked as they stepped up the curb across the intersection. “This is my first vacation in fourteen years. The first real vacation. It’s stupid but I do not know about anything except taxes, accounting and law. I don’t even know sports. You’re the first person I’ve met in years that was not a client or had something to do with a client. Sandy was a client. Sonya was a client’s wife.”
They crossed another street and came to the window with the pink couch. Michael stopped and pulled Barbara to a stop with him. Staring into the window under a street light they saw their dark, fuzzy figures in the glass. Michael dropped his hand down to Barbara’s hand and holding it, turned to her. He said, “All this stuff I’ve told you about Sonya is fairly vague. I know that, Barbara. It’s just that I don’t know what is the truth. I was in love with Sonya. She was in love with me. We got married. She thought I was worthy of her and told me so. Maybe I was a sucker to go for her and maybe I wasn’t. Why we lived in her mother’s house, I don’t know. We liked it. I still like it. Why she left? Who knows? I don’t know how to think about my life. I’ve never really taken time to think about it. Things just worked out. Now, obviously, everything has turned into shit and I have no idea how to start thinking about it or what to do. But what I want to say is, I’m glad I met you Barbara. It’s the one good thing about this trip.”
Barbara grabbed Michael’s other hand with her free hand and squeezed both his hands. She heard herself say, “I’m glad I met you too, Michael.” But unable to smile, she pulled both hands free and started towards Rue du Bac, running her left palm along the squeaky showroom window.