Mark couldn’t help but notice he was being followed. For almost a week now, he figured. The guy was lousy at being inconspicuous.
Roger, as Mark now referred to him, seemed to only have the one winter coat—a red, puffy, ski jacket—and he wore it everyday.
“Amateurs,” Mark thought to himself. “When will they learn?”
In the restaurant he sat with his back to the door, something he hardly ever did. Roger sat at a table behind him, hardly keeping his distance. This was the closest Roger had come, physically. Mark figured the time for a real encounter was coming soon. He would get the answer about who had sent this red-coated shadow, and why.
His best guess was Alissa. Her jealous streak had finally gotten the best of her and she hired a private detective, some dick, to follow him around and watch his every move. All she would’ve gotten this week were a few questionable phone calls. This week was nothing but a series of bus trips….home to work, work to home.
Yes, he’d arrived home late several times this week, and that was not because of anything to concern Alissa.
But everything concerned Alissa.
“This is ridiculous,” Mark thought, or said out loud, he couldn’t be sure. “I’m not putting up with up this.”
This last part was probably out loud, given the strange quick looks he got from the ladies at the next table.
He took a breath, stood up and turned around. Immediately Roger sensed he was being looked at, and he glanced up from his turkey sandwich. Mayonnaise dripping from the corner of his stuffed cheeks. He paused briefly, but then smiled, grabbed his napkin and wiped his face.
And then Roger did something that Mark did not expect. Roger turned and looked out the window and watched the passersby.
After a few moments, his gaze returned to Mark who stood stock still.
A little too loudly Mark said, “I know you’ve been following me all week. I know why, too! And you can stop now. It can all stop. I’m tired of her shit. She’s gone too far!”
The room was quickly focused on Mark. No one said a word.
Quietly Roger managed a “Pardon?” accompanied by a quick glance at the others in the room.
“It’s over. I’m through with this. I’ll go tell her myself! Right now!” And with that Mark grabbed his coat and hustled out of the diner. All eyes watching him.
Roger turned to the ladies at the next table, and asked, “Was hat er gesagt?” The ladies, none of whom spoke German, simply shrugged and went back to enjoying their soup. Roger took a glance out the window, watching Mark’s brisk retreat down the road.
After a moment he too shrugged, smiled at the ladies, and pulled his Guide to New York City out of his bag and began planning his last days of vacation.
Varioni's Den 