I shake my head. “No. I wanted to be a lawyer, but I, um… it didn’t work out. Maybe sometime soon, though.”
“A lawyer?”
I practice my poker face. “Criminal, yeah. I’d love to be a criminal lawyer.”
He smirks. “I’d rethink that if I were you. It’s really not all that glamorous.”
I let my eyes widen. “You’re a lawyer?”
“I’m Ted Brown,” he tells me, as though it’s an inside joke. “I sell stationery.”
“And what else does Mr Brown do besides sell stationery?”
He laughs a little. “Mr Brown strives towards world peace, and fucks pretty little virgin girls in expensive hotel rooms.”
I laugh along with him. “Then I guess Mr Brown is very good at selling stationery.” I gesture to our surroundings. “He must be.”
“Mr Brown is very good at a lot of things.” His eyes are dark again.
I take a breath. “I don’t doubt it.”
He opens the dresser drawer. My heart thumps as he pulls out a briefcase, one of the ones I know so well. He unclips the catches and I see the set of sex toys I’ve been thinking about non-stop since I found them in his bedroom. He hands me an envelope. A thick envelope.
“This gets the practicalities out of the way,” he says, then lowers himself back in his seat.
I nod. “Thank you.”
I realise this could be my moment. Maybe my only moment.
I take my handbag from the side and make a mountain of pulling my things out to fit the envelope snugly. I act like I’m clumsy, juggling my lipstick and purse in my splayed fingers as I slip it inside.
And then I let the little velvet bag tumble. I watch it fall, watch it bounce on the carpet between us, then scrabble for it as he does, making sure I’m a couple of seconds too late.
“Phew,” I breathe as he hands it back. I jangle the bag. “Thank you. I really don’t want to lose these.”
He takes the bait. “These?”
I shove everything else away in my bag. “You’ll think it’s silly,” I tell him.
“Silly?” He raises an eyebrow. “If that’s a bag of white powder, then maybe so, yes.”
I laugh. Then I tip the crystals out into my palm.
His poker face is good, but his jaw tightens.
“I keep them for luck,” I tell him. “Stupid maybe, but I love them.” I hold the little red stone up to the light. “This is garnet.”
“From Rajasthan, I imagine,” he says. He takes it from my fingers. “They mine most of the gemstone grade quality there.”
My belly flutters. “You know about crystals?”
He holds out his hand and I offer him another, the green one.
“Malachite,” he tells me. “They have the most incredible vase made out of malachite at the Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg. It’s really very impressive.”
“Have you been?”
“Yes,” he says, and reaches for another. I give him the amethyst. “Very pretty. I have an extraordinary piece from Siberia. It’s the very deepest purple. Stunning.”
“You collect them? Really?”
“You could say that.” His eyes meet mine. “What a coincidence.”
I shrug it off. “Oh, I’m not a collector. I don’t really have the funds. I just love them.”
“Love them enough to carry them in your handbag.” He smirks. “I may collect them, but I don’t carry them around in my pockets, so I think you win.”
I smirk right back at him. “I may carry them around in my bag, but I don’t have an amethyst from Siberia. I think you win, Mr Brown, sir.”
He tips his head, stares at the palm I’ve been so carefully rolling my quartz in. “And that one?”
“Oh this one?” I meet his eyes, determined to make him see what I want him to see. “This one’s special. It’s my favourite. I carry it with me, all the time.” I laugh. “Normally in my hand like an idiot. It’s like my lucky charm.”
He holds out his. “May I?” I hand it over gladly. My heart thumps as he holds it up to the light. “Rutilated quartz.”
“Angel hair, yeah.”
He squints as he stares inside, and he looks so serious. “This is a very nice specimen.”
“Thanks.” I will him to hold it in his palm like I did, will him to roll it in his fingers.
Will him to like it.
He does roll it in his fingers. He really does. “I can see why it’s your favourite.”
“Nice, isn’t it?”
“Very nice. I don’t have one. I’ll have to put it on my list.”
I act surprised, even though I know his collection by heart. “You don’t?”
“No. I’ve not yet had a specimen come up that I liked.”
I shrug. “Guess I got lucky with mine.” I hold out my palm, and he places the stone back in it, but my fingers grasp his before he pulls away and flip his hand over. I don’t let go, not for a long moment. “Keep it,” I tell him. “To remember me by.”