Short Mysterious Stories

My Hobby (Part 2)

by Tom Fabian

That night, Leyton was waiting for Sue and I on the porch. "Nice evening," he said as we approached. He shook hands with me and kissed Sue. Never understood these bastards who slobber over casual female acquaintances.

He showed us inside. The furnishings revealed much of what I had already suspected about the Leytons. The furniture looked as if they had purchased it as brand new sets from a showroom. The paintings on the wall were of the kind you'd find at a tourist stop "art gallery."

He led us into the kitchen where his wife, a heavy-set lady, was putting the finishing touches on the meal, which apparently was some kind of lamb roast.

She smiled up at us. "I'd shake your hands but my hands are greasy," she said shyly. "I'm just finishing up. Stanley, take them out to the porch for some cocktails and appetizers."

"I'll help you," volunteered Sue. Leaving me in the clutches of asinine Stan.

I followed Leyton to the porch, where the evening breeze had blown Mrs. Leyton's cocktail napkins everywhere. While I helped him pick them up, he was already inundating me with questions. Was I a Yankees fan? What did I think of the Knicks? Had I ever been married? What exactly did I do for a living? My replies were short and curt. It was none of his business and I wanted to make sure he disliked me enough to never invite me over again.

Sue came out all smiling to announce that dinner was ready. In the dining room the lamb roast was the center of attention.

I'd been a vegetarian ever since I ran over the Belgian baker. "I'll take the wild rice and vegetables," I said.

"What about some meat?" Leyton seemed perplexed and looked to his wife for guidance.

"I'm a vegetarian."

"Wow George, I could have sworn you were more of a hunter," he said.

How little he knew.

Throughout that woeful meal, the Leytons proved that they were desperately trying to assimilate into the American way of life. They spoke about catalog-shopping, baseball, reality television and the latest celebrity gossip. When we were finished, Leyton yawned and after punching his own chest announced, "I think I had too much."

We started to make our way to the living room. I'd be damned if I was going to undergo another of Leyton's almost too-friendly grillings. "I think I'd already mentioned that we'd have to call it an early night," I lied. "I've got to go back to the city early tomorrow. Some unfinished business to take care of."

"You'll do nothing of the sort," Mrs. Leyton said. She turned to Sue: "Are you interested in limited edition figurines?"

"Love them," idiot Sue said.

"Come back into the kitchen. I have a collection I'd like to show you."

Leyton showed me to a chair: "I wasn't going to let you out of my grasp that easily."

I laughed, but his face remained unexpressive. He turned around and walked over to the liquor cabinet. "I'm not always this bubbly. I suffer from depression. Started when my brother died."

"Your brother?"

"He died when I was in Australia and he was in New York."

"I'm sorry," I said.

He smiled. "Yeah. Pity I never got to know him better." He handed me a drink.

"I'll show you his picture." He retrieved a framed photo from the bookshelf.

There he was, the face of one of my—I'll call them victims for want of a better word. I had hoped he didn't detect the surprise in my face.

"No, Georgy, it isn't a coincidence."