Talk To Me

08-I || Behold, Michael Emerson

It was Wednesday. Michael's day.

Here's the text Adrian sent out to Michael at precisely 1.33 this afternoon: Garrison's Coffee Corner. 5.15?

Here's Michael's reply at 1.48: See you there.

And now it was 5.35 PM and Michael Emerson was a very punctual guy. He was already at a table, waiting for his faithful old "buddy", and in rushed Adrian. Nods, and a rough handshake was exchanged, but I couldn't see much. They were two tables away from the window, and my car wasn't exactly parked right next to them. But I'd seen Michael when he'd walked in. I needed to see him in person. The once strong and proud overlord now torn to shreds, left with literally nothing. I'd thought the pictures on Google had been exaggerating the defeated and broken appearance of him, shying away from reporters and giving tight-lipped grimaces to the police.

But my eyes saw everything today as he stepped out of his beaten-up Honda: the hunching scoop of his bony shoulders, his once-hard but now watery gaze, the five o'clock shadow on his dark, roughened face. He actually walked right by my car. Of course he didn't look in. Why would he?

And now I switched on my blue-tooth and the little miracle inside Adrian's much-loved Montblanc was doing its job beautifully. They were giving their coffee order: Adrian, a caramel decaf latte, and Michael, just black coffee.

"Alright, let's get straight to it," said Michael. "What's so urgent?"

Right to brass tacks, no beating around the bush. I liked Michael already.

Adrian's sigh sounded loud in my ear; I flinched, as thought I could smell his meaty breath. "You are not going to believe this." Pause. For effect? Get on with it, Dad. "So my secretary quit, you know, Jess, such a shame, bright young girl...anyway, guess who came to take her place?"

"Who?" Michael couldn't have sounded more bored.

"Steve's. Daughter." There was another long pause, which Adrian himself broke, in a shaky tone, "I mean...I mean, my daughter. Harper. Harper Kadric. Taylor's—Taylor's daughter."

I went from Steve's daughter to his daughter to Taylor's daughter. If he didn't control himself he was going to splutter his way into making me enter the family tree of Michael.

Michael didn't say anything for another moment, and I sat listening to the hustle and bustle of the coffee shop. Their orders were brought; I heard Adrian's courteous thank you and the click-clacking heels of the waitress. Then a tearing sound: sugar packets. Blowing of breath, sipping and swallowing. Michael really was taking his own sweet time. Then, "are you absolutely certain?"

"Positive," replied Adrian, his voice hasty to get it all out. "I couldn't believe it, you know, when I—Carly was the one in charge of hiring a new secretary, I told her I needed a new one really fast, I mean Jess quit at such a critical time, so I never looked in on the process myself, if I had, I—I would have seen, before, you know...but I saw her on her first day and I just...I almost lost it, Michael."

I laughed to myself, inside the safety of my own car. You didn't "almost" lose it, Adrian, you really did lose it.

"I mean—" Adrian's voice crackled into my ear with a new touch of passion and anxiety. "She looks just like Taylor. Just like her. It's so uncanny. And I thought—I thought she'd come to confront me because she—she, you know—knew. Had found out."

"Well, that was quite absurd of you and really insulting to me," remarked Michael. He still sounded bored, not even interested in the slightest. "No one has found out anything in fifteen whole years. You really think someone—anyone, even her—would find out something now?"