The banner that hung from the roof of the hotel banqueting suite read 'CLASS OF 1990' in bold, sans-serif letters. Beneath it, tables and chairs had been set out in what the brochure described as a 'lounge seating arrangement'. Most of the people in the hall were sitting at the tables, making awkward small talk. Others were dancing listlessly to thirty-year old house music and electronica, played by a DJ with a laptop. A few people were at the bar, drinking the night away.
"Aren't you - ?" James pointed to a florid-faced man in a rumpled suit who was sitting three stools down the bar.
The man lifted the lapel of his suit to reveal a yellow and red adhesive name badge. "Warren."
"Of course!" James flashed his name badge at his fellow alumnus. "James Franks."
"I remembered." Warren lifted his glass of whiskey and took a gulp.
"Wow." James was silent for a minute as he tried to think of some gambit to keep the conversation going. "You've changed." He cursed inwardly, angry with himself for having used such a bad cliché.
The man in the rumpled suit nodded. "It's not the years. It's the mileage." He took another gulp from his glass, then held it up for a refill.
"So, what have you been up to since graduation? I'm an insurance manager."
Warren peered down his nose at James. "Me?" It was as if he was trying to remember what came next. "I'm a writer."
"Wow." James moved down the row of stools so he could be closer to his classmate. "A published author?"
"A few stories here and there. I make a decent living from it."
"Really?" James waved to attract the bartender's attention. "I don't remember having seen your name on the bestseller list. But I might have read some of your books."
Warren blinked his bloodshot eyes. "Do you read thrillers?"
"Love them!"
"Well, i write under a pen name. So it's entirely possible you might have read something of mine." Warren took another gulp of liquor, then turned away and rested his arms on the melamine counter top.
James tried to keep the conversation going, to reach out to the man. "Well, you must be good. I mean - look at you! It looks like you've been living life to the full." He stopped. Warren had turned back towards him and was glaring at him through narrowed eyes.
"What do you mean?" Warren's voice was calm and controlled. "Go on. Tell me."
"It's just - ." James knew he had to pick his next words very carefully if he wanted to avoid trouble. "It's just - You haven't aged well!" He hadn't meant to be so blunt, but it was too late to take it back.
Warren laughed. It was hollow and bitter. "You know what they say about answering when opportunity calls?" James nodded, afraid to speak out of turn. "Well, nobody ever tells you that it's a collect call."
