Pineapple Candies

*

    I watch him get out of the cab, glancing up at the second floor windows before he shuts the door. He turns back toward the building, shielding his eyes with his hand, trying again to see through the glare of the late afternoon sun. He gives up, dropping his hand as he starts toward the first floor entrance.

    It's been almost seven years since we've seen each other and nearly that long since we've spoken. He hasn't changed much; hairline's a little further back now, style more GQ than Rolling Stone, still the same lean, athletic build. Back in the day, the demands of the job kept him fit; globe-trotting to who knows where at a moments notice and into every imaginable situation. Now it's kept up in a gym. He's more than made a name for himself at this point, and with it, the clout to be able to pick and choose his assignments. But I guess keeping up appearances is part of the price of being in the public eye. I shake my head.

    I turn from the window to the stair well across from me, watching as his head crests the floor. He's already scoping out the room before he even reaches the top step. A reporter's instincts never fully go offline I suppose,  and when you have a major story suddenly drop into your lap they go into over-drive.

    I shake my head again, easily reading his expressions despite the intervening years between us. Smiling as I watch him size up the occupants of the shop.

He has no idea.

    The college age couple at the table to the far end of the window behind me? No, definitely not.

    The guy with the messenger bag and the tablet seated by the counter? No.

    The three teenage girls taking selfies with their overpriced beverages and drooling over the cute barista behind the counter? Another definite no.

    The woman with the stack of books and equally high stack of papers near the bookshelves? Maybe... No, probably not. He decides on second thought with as light shake of his head.

    I smile. So he has read the book. Probably long before he got the email, and probably more than once.

    He continues scouting the room for likely candidates, glancing at me and past me before doing a double take.  He breaks into a smile, the momentary hesitation in his step as he heads toward my table noticeable only to me.

    "Geoff?" His voice slightly louder than necessary in a transparent attempt to attract the attention of the person he came to meet, hoping she'll notice his arrival and make herself known. "When did you get back? I thought you were still out East?" He walks over to my table, still searching for some sort of recognition from one of the dozen or so patrons in the shop.

    He really has no idea... I shake my head again, trying to maintain an air of neutrality to my smile as I look up at him. "Hey, Dean. I've only been back about a month."

    "Jeez, I haven't seen you since... " His sentence trails off incomplete, smile fading along with it. We both know the marker but he's not ready to interrupt our apparently amicable reunion by blatantly bringing it front and center.

    I let the topic drop too. For now. "Hey, why don't you sit down for a few minutes?" I nod toward the chair across from me.

    "I can't today, I'm meeting someone." He hesitates. "But let's get together soon, huh?" His expression is genuine as he looks at me before giving the room another once over for some sign of recognition from someone. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a business card. "You don't have my new number." He says handing it to me. "Give me a call." He wants to say more but doesn't. Now he's the one working on the neutral expression. He starts for the counter.

    "Sit." I say to him. "You're here to see me."

    That catches him off-guard. He looks at me.

    "I have an interview, or I hope it's going to be an interview." He says, giving the room a final scan.  "If she didn't bail on me." He adds under his breath.

    "She didn't. Your interview's with me."

    He gives me that look again.

    "Your interview with ae by ef; you're here to see me. Sit." I say, nodding toward the chair again.

    "You know, I might think that was funny if this interview wasn't such a big deal and if I didn't want to know just how in the hell you got that information." He's staring at me hard now.

    "I have that information, because I'm the one who sent you that email." I slide my phone across the table toward him. "Check the account."

    He picks up my phone, re-reading the email he received three days ago before scrolling up to see the account.  His brows furrow as he reads it.

    "What the - Why do you have this?" He asks facing my phone toward me - like I won't know what he's talking about without the visual.

    "Because it's my account. I'm ae by ef."

    He looks at me, mouth silently opening and closing a couple of times before he finally pulls out the chair across from me and sinks into it.

    "But how..." He begins then catches himself. "Wait a minute," He shakes his head. "I know you, you have trouble writing a coherent sentence that's not straight up ad copy; there's no way you could have written that book. And not only that," He says leaning forward, narrowing his eyes as he studies me. "I remember being in a creative writing course with you senior year. Your stuff was strictly kiddie end of the pool with flotation devices - there's no way you could manage something that deep."

    "Gee Dean, thanks for all the heartwarming accolades." I say dryly.

    "You know what I mean." He says. "But anyway, isn't ae by ef supposed to be a woman?"

    "First of all, I never said I wrote it. And yes, she is a woman." And five years out, it still takes me a minute to actually say the words. "Or was."

    He looks at me, brow arch asking the question wordlessly.

    "She died five years ago." I watch him mentally do the math. Letting my breath out slowly as I lean back in my chair, waiting to feel the big release.  The realization that with that one sentence, it's no longer just mine; the weight of holding it for so long being lifted from me.

It doesn't come.

    "But that would mean..."

    I nod, I try to smile too. I don't know if I actually manage it. "And I became ae by ef."

    He leans back in his chair letting his breath out as a low whistle. "So it's been you from the beginning, but... ?"

    I watch his face for a minute, his placid expression in stark contrast to the countless question forming and queuing behind it. Some of which I might even have the answers to.

    "Hey, is that little place over on fifty-third still there?" I ask as I stand up. "I think I feel like something a little stronger than espresso."

    He nods, getting up too.

    "Let's head over there." I pull out a five and drop it on the table next to my barely touched coffee. "What's your schedule like for tomorrow?" I ask as we walk toward the stairs.

    "Basically clear. Why?"

    "Good." I say as we head down. "I have a feeling it might wind up being a long night."

    The weather outside has changed considerably since I got here an hour and a half ago. I pull my collar up against the early evening chill and the swirling mist of rain that's like being inside a cloud. A foghorn sounds from the bay as we step to the curb to flag a cab. I smile.

    She would have liked it here. I wish she had given me the chance to bring her.