The Living Statue

28.

As soon as we entered our apartment, Mr. Torres poured himself a drink. He didn't bother changing into something more comfortable, or taking a shower or withdrawing to his quarters as I'd expected him to. Most of the time, he avoids me, but tonight he insisted I have a drink with him and so we stepped outside onto the marvelous balcony, glass of whiskey in hands, listening to the calming melody of a violine in the distance.

It could've been romantic, were the two of us conplete strangers or some star-crossed lovers. But at that moment, we both just enjoyed the silence, I think. I could not concentrate on the beautiful cityscape or the even more beautiful night sky, for I was too tired from everything that had happened lately. I just wanted to enjoy a strong drink and a mild breeze and be quiet for awhile, and Mr. Torres must've wanted the same, because he remained utterly quiet, elbows braces on top of the iron fence, eyes trained on something far, far away in the distance.

After some time, he said, "Thank you for not asking too many questions. I thought that was impossible."

I chuckled, turning my head to look at him. I didn't say anything, I just watched him, how his face sharpened and blurred against the twinkling light as if my eyes were a camera lens and he was a perfect model. I wished I could take a picture of him like that, right in that moment, all messy and pensive and real, but I was too afraid to ask. For the first time I felt as if standing next to a real person, and not someone as perfectly programmed and calculated as some high-tech robot.

"You know, when I hired you I thought you'd be gone in two weeks. I backfilled you with paperwork, I was assigning you the most boring jobs on the planet, I even gave you that impossible thing with the latin words," he said, his face serious but somewhat merry. "But you just wouldn't give up. I'm sure you wanted to throttle me a thousand times but you never gave up." He turned his head to look at the cityscape again. "You remind me of myself on so many levels, it's almost eerie."

My lips spread into a smile so big, it reached from ear to ear. "Sir, are you giving me a compliment?"

His mouth twitched. "Don't get used to it, Griffin."

"No, sir. Certainly not." I was still smiling like a fool, because this was a once in a lifetime thing. Mr. Torres complimenting a mere mortal. I mean c'mon, it's like being honoured by the Queen herself. "Wait," I said all of a sudden, my eyes narrowed. "So the latin words slash codes don't really exist? You made them up just to torture me?"

"You sound so surprised..."

"I am surprised, sir! That's outrageous! It took me, what, three days to finish that task. It was the wrost," I complain, trying to sound as hurt as possible. "You, sir, are one terrible, terrible person."

"You, Miss Griffin, are far more naive than I thought. I should be the one who's hurt," he said, giving me that half-moon sideways smile, his eyes obscured by the dark strands of his messy hair.

I pushed away the urge to remove the stray strands from his eyes. "And why's that?" I asked, taking another sip of my whiskey. His was gone a long time ago.

He turned to look at me, his side leaned on the iron fence, long legs crossed at the ankles. "Because I thought you knew me better by now than to think I'd let you pass this probation period without giving you a hard time."

I laughed. I laughed so hard, I'm sure I woke up half of the guests. "Would you like me to refill that for you?" I asked, gesturing toward an empty glass in his hand.

"I'll do it myself." When he saw the shock on my face, he added, "I can only boss you around throughout the work hours. It's your free night tonight." Then he disappeared behind the curtain. I felt a bit dizzy, but I couldn't say if it was the alcohol or Mr. Torres' weird behavior or this whole night altogether that had left me feeling so light headed.