Chapter 62

Hugo takes my trench coat. It is a bad idea, in general, to surrender your coat without discerning where it is bound. Andy and I would retain our coats at winter parties or hang them on a chair so we could make a quick getaway. I am given a Campari and soda with a twist, unasked, which is what he’s been drinking, not me. I move to a barstool.

“Boyohboyohboyohboy.” He fans himself. “Mr. Homestore just smudged my wall.”

“Did I?” I glance down. The mark is no bigger than a quarter. I’m not convinced I did it. It might even be a shadow. “I’m sorry. It must’ve been my foot,” I apologize.

“It will need repainting.”

I stand. “I can run a rag under some warm water and blot it off.”

“Where it’s worn from rubbing will show.”

“Not if I feather it. I know what I’m doing.”

The inky veins on his temples fill. “You of all people should value the nice things of others, Mr. Homestore.”

“If you’d let me—”

“Just drop it, foxy.”