Pineapple Candies

***

    We sit quietly for several minutes, absorbed in the atmosphere of this place, in the countless memories we have stored here. He's not pushing the issue of why we're here, neither am I. There's no hurry.  It's like a book sitting on your bedside table, whether you pick it up and read it tonight or wait until tomorrow, it'll still be there and the words on the pages won't have changed.

    Funny I would think of it as a book analogy.

    Whether it's his honed instincts as a journalist, or the intrinsic connection you form with a close friend over the years, he knows there's a lot more involved for me than just having been the proxy for a dead author these past five years. Even so...

    I look over at him. "We can start whenever you're ready."

    He nods. "You okay if I record?" He asks as he reaches into the pocket of his bag for his voice recorder.

    "I expected you to. That's how interviews usually work."

    "I figured, but I wanted to ask anyway." He turns it on, speaking into it directly before sitting it on the bar. "AE by EF, January twenty-third, twenty-thirteen, seven fifty-three pm."  He slides it a little away from us, moving his drink to the side, getting out his notes and putting them in front of him. He looks through them quickly, then returns them to his bag with a sigh.

    "They're basically irrelevant now." He says, moving his drink back in front of him.

    "Sorry."

    "You could have told me in advance."

    "Not really, you wouldn't have bought it if I had."

    "I'm still not sure I buy it now."

    "Have another drink, it'll get easier."

    "Looking at you, I'm not sure I buy that either."

    "Thanks." From somebody else that comment would probably really piss me off. Even more so because I know it's true. "I didn't think you were here to be convinced of anything; I thought you were here to find out her story."

    "Point taken." He says finishing his drink anyway.

    "I'm not really sure where to begin now." He  pours himself another and refills mine too. "It's not like I can just rattle through the rote list of standard interview questions. Actually, I guess I couldn't have anyway what with there being that shroud of mystery surrounding her true identity - now I see why."

    I shake my head. "No, you don't. I'm just following what she setup; I don't even know why."  

    I still don't know why.

    I can feel him looking at me, waiting. "Go ahead." I say finally. "Where ever you want to start. I'll answer what I know."

    "I guess the first thing is the name: ae x ef. What does it stand for; her initials and her writing partner's?"

    I laugh out loud. "Hardly." The question is completely logical and it's where much of the speculation about her identity has led over the years, but it's really about as far from the truth as you could get.

    "Well?"There's a touch of annoyance in his voice.

    "Okay, this part stays strictly between us - my call. This is the only thing I want kept off the record."

    "Why?" He eyes me with an air of journalistic suspicion which, at the moment I would bet is running neck and neck with our twenty plus year friendship. I pull out my phone and cue a video before passing it to him. He's hit full on with the frenetic opening guitar riff backing an artsy black and white music video. He watches about a minute of it before turning to look at me.