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the long history of stuntmen in her past, and it didn’t serve him that he was one of the sweetest.
    When he got up close to my table, I could see he had a large wet stain covering the outside of his left leg. It looked like he had stepped into a puddle up to his knee.
    â€œHi, how are you doing? What’s that you’re reading? Are you planning a trip?” Compared to his normal sound level, he was practically whispering. I handed him the atlas that I was marking up with possible routes.
    â€œWe’re thinking of going to Montreal next week.”
    â€œRight. So, uh, listen, have you seen her lately?”
    â€œWe met up for a late breakfast.”
    â€œOh, did she . . . ?”
    â€œLook, Finn, what can I tell ya—”
    â€œOh don’t worry, I’m totally fine. Totally. I just . . . well, you know. I just really think she’s great.” He smiled helplessly, and I wondered why he thought she was so great if she had just given him the boot.
    Something didn’t smell so good, a bit like parmesan cheese. I looked around at the food on people’s tables wondering which one it was coming from. From the speakers Tom Waits growled some cacophony about a guy named Frank and some raining dogs and steaming gutters.
    â€œYou know you really shouldn’t take it too personally. It’s truly not about you. She’s fickle, flirty, capricious, whatever you want to call it.”
    â€œYa she’s like the wind . . . ‘Wild is the Wind,’ you know that Bowie song?”
    â€œI love Nina Simone’s version too.”
    â€œSo I probably shouldn’t call her, should I? I mean, I would just like to tell her I’m fine and maybe we could go for lunch.”
    â€œI don’t think—”
    He got up quickly, his springy curls bouncing as he walked over to the payphone on the wall beside the condiments counter. I watched him plug in his quarter and prod the numbers enthusiastically. He tilted his head to the left and sandwiched the phone between his neck and shoulder. With his left hand he lit a cigarette. He had one hand free to gesticulate; he was one of those people who really talked with his hands. The call lasted about one single minute. He looked at the phone for a moment before hanging up. He slouched back over to the table, dragging his feet, defeat in his eyes. My stomach spasmed, the cinnamon roll sat uncomfortably in my guts. I remembered how it was when Sullivan left. That pure disbelief that he could actually just go. Be gone from me. All my privileges taken away.
    â€œYou know what . . . I . . . I’m fine. I’m glad I did that.”
    There was no escaping this: he needed help. “Finn, what happened?”
    â€œD’ya really wanna know?”
    â€œTell me everything.” I sighed quietly, knowing he needed to talk it out. “Let me get a beer first, do you want one?”
    â€œSure, whatever—”
    I went to the counter and got two Heinekens from the cute bartender.
    â€œSo I’m sitting at Pizza Hut wondering what I’m doing there. They play boy-band music there, for Chrissakes. It’s like a hockey-jock hangout. All these guys are there stuffing their faces with pepperoni and cheese pizzas. Chins everywhere glistening with grease, it’s gross, know what I mean? Cheering for the Oilers, mooning the Flames. I can’t figure out why Bella wants to meet here. It’s part of her charm though, you know, mystery. So anyway, eventually she shows up looking ridiculously foxy, right?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI mean, really hot . She’s wearing this black dress with twelve buttons down the front. I counted them while she was standing at the salad bar, spooning out croutons and bacon bits. And go-go boots.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œShe was wearing go-go dancer boots up to her thighs.”
    â€œRight,” I said. I