Arch whispered something to Averett that brought a smile to his lips. He reminded me of myself at fourteen, my whole sense of self immersed in my association with a superior specimen of manhood. I wondered if anyone had ever viewed me with the same envy and contempt I now felt for Nick Averett.

Jamie signaled the bartender, a rangy man with a goatee and longish black hair slicked back into a small ponytail.

“Roger, this is my oldest friend,” Jamie said. “His money’s no good here, capisce?”

“Sure, Jamie,” Roger said.

Jamie pulled out a cigarette and placed it in his mouth. Roger produced a lighter from his breast pocket and lit it and then lit one of his own.

This is the way the world ends, I thought.

“I gotta take a piss,” Jamie said. “You need to go?”

“No,” I said.

“I mean, do you need to go?” Jamie tapped his nose with his index finger.

“I’m good,” I said. “But thanks.”

“Suit yourself.”

Jamie slid off the stool and ambled over toward the restrooms. Roger was drying cocktail glasses with a bar towel and hanging them upside down in the narrow brass racks above our heads.

“My mother worked here,” I said. “Years ago.”

“What was her name?”

“You wouldn’t know her,” I said. “It was a long time ago.”

“Try me.”

“Bonnie Boykin,” I said.

Roger dried another glass and slid it into the rack. “She’s your mom?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Shit, man, me and Bonnie go way back.”

“No kidding.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m real sorry, man.”

I didn’t know what to say. “Thank you”? Was there a code, like saying “Congratulations” to the groom and “Best wishes” to the bride? I could have used Vanessa to give me cues.

Arch took the stool next to me, where Jamie had been sitting.

“You might have told me about your new career plans,” I said.

He signaled the bartender.

“Club soda, Rodge,” he said. “And the tab.”

Roger nodded. A moment later, he returned with the drink and a slip of white paper. Arch pulled two one-hundred-dollar bills from his wallet.

“Give Teri the change, will you, Rodge?” he said. “And call a cab for me.”

He sipped his soda.

“I was going to tell you,” he said. “I was waiting for the right moment.”

A twinge of resentment seized me as I recalled Arch’s past history of keeping secrets from me until the arrival, in his judgment, of the right moment.

I lifted my glass, shook an ice cube into my mouth, and sucked on it.

“Too much club soda to drive?” I asked.

“The cab’s for you,” he said. “I’ve got a meeting.”

“This late?”

He nodded.

“I might be a while. I could leave you here, but Jamie would probably try to stuff an eight ball up your nose.”

“He already offered,” I said. I signaled Roger for another drink.