He took a cigarette and offered her one. She remembered how wrong it seemed that Gordon Bray smoked Salem. She remembered lying, saying something along the lines of “Menthol, menthol isn’t my thing.” He was lighting up anyway. He took in all of her when he inhaled. He said—what was it?—“Isn’t my thing either.” Or maybe “That’s not what I hear.” It was the sound of a car on the ramp, a car with worn brakes, that she remembered well. Because she thought that he would leave, that he wouldn’t want to be seen talking to her. But Bray didn’t care. She got on her bicycle and felt his eyes on her back until she’d turned the corner to the street.

Mabel?”

“Yes, hello.”

“Mabel, this is Stanley Belson.”

“Stanley!”

“Stanley, from the paper.”

“Stanley!”

“I know I waited a long time to call you.” He looked at the words he had written down to say to her. He’d added, Please forgive me, but now that he heard out loud what he’d written, he felt that was too formal, so he left it out.

“Oh! That’s—”

“That day you came into the paper, when you walked over to my desk …” He’d decided he needed to remind her of this, because she might not remember.

“… I was so surprised,” he finished.

He sounded like an audio recording. He paused. But it’s been so long—what was wrong with this? It felt false now, though he meant these words. He’d chosen them carefully so he wouldn’t leave anything out.

“But it’s been so long that I was hesitant.”

She wasn’t saying anything. He waited, in case she did want to reply, though he’d envisioned this as a longish set of sentences.

“Maybe it was spur-of-the-moment,” he continued. “Maybe you thought better of it when you got home.”

“Oh! No!” She stopped there. He wished she would elaborate. But she didn’t. He waited a little more.

“But the other day,” he finally went on, “I was looking in my desk drawer and came upon your number, and I realized I wanted to know how you were—how all these years you’d been. So I picked up the phone today and just called.”

There. He’d done it. He’d actually done it.

“Stanley, are you … finished?”

“Well, the day is starting just now for me. Though tonight I won’t be staying until two, the way I normally do, because I’m switching with someone. But I’ll tell you what, it’s very hard to find anyplace that’s open at that hour. I’ve tried. The best thing is to meet before I go in, but for most people that means tea, or coffee, but rarely a drink. I suppose you entertain quite a bit.”