Our Songs, Our Story, Our Love.

Chapter 2.

The footsteps on the other side of the door would be getting nearer now.
Artie could almost hear them.
He went to adjust his thin, blue tie yet again but realised that he was still holding onto the coffee mug in one of his hands. He turned around quickly to put it down onto the breakfast bar behind him, suddenly thinking that perhaps he should have put it into the dishwasher out of the way.
Maybe though, he should have had a beer instead or a glass of wine, or bourbon even, then maybe he wouldn't now be feeling so goddam nervous.
Too late for any in decisions. His dinner guest  would be here any second.

He now looked at his reflection yet again in the mirror that was positioned high upon the kitchen wall. There were, in actual fact quite a lot of mirrors in this particular home. They really gave a feeling of immense space, although that wasn't really an issue in  an exquisite, lavish, well appointed apartment such as this.
Having limited space was not one of the things that was in short supply here!
This apartment was the beneficially of everything you could ever want or desire in a multi millionaires home.
And that included the fantastic views out over Central Park that it's  owner was so very fond of.

He now took in a huge breath and suddenly looked down at his hands.
They were trembling. Actually trembling.
He then bit down onto his bottom lip. A habit he'd actually maintained throughout his life. It was a nervous reaction to anything he found that took him out of his comfort zone and he scolded himself for feeling this way in his very own home.
He smoothed down his shirt and adjusted his tie once again.
This was terrible. Why on earth was he feeling like this?
His dinner companion was his oldest and dearest friend. Someone whom he'd actually grown up with, treated almost like a brother, more than a brother in fact and had shared all sorts of experiences with, laughed with, cried with............... Argued with.

Artie bit at his bottom lip again.
Yes, they had fought. They had fought dangerously like cat and dog, with rows and arguments that could so very often be frenzied, hurtful and sometimes just downright spiteful.
To onlookers who had witnessed their bickerings and unpleasantness towards one another, it would seem that some of their arguments could have been totally unrepairable. And maybe if it had of been between two other people who were not Simon and Garfunkel, it probably would have.
But these two were very different. These two had something really unique going on. Something above everything else.
Something that was a lot stronger than anyone could ever see.
It was bond.
An extremely special bond that held them so tightly together, that even they could not fully understand it.

Artie had now started to pace in a tight little circle around his ginormous, open plan kitchenette area, contemplating something. He had a finger placed lightly onto his lips and a hand pulling at the back of his curly head of hair.
He was nervous and very anxious and was wondering where the best place for him to stand was, as his friend arrived.

Should he actually be standing right here, just waiting.
Would it be better if he just left the door on the catch and go over and sit on the sofa. He could then act sort of cool and almost off handed as his friend would have to then come in and go over to him.
What about going out onto the patio, where he'd been standing just moments before. Surely that would be an even better option.
His friend would then have to walk all the way through into the apartment and then also go outside.
When he joined him they could then start a conversation about the view and how beautiful Central Park looked at this time of year. It could then lead onto that fabled concert they did together, the one Artie had been reminiscing about earlier.
Yes, that could work. It would definitely break down any barriers that may have unexpectedly started to build since the last time they had spoken, which was quite possible, knowing the ferocity of their past.  It may also prevent him from becoming more nervous than he already was about the appearance of his friend. Something that he found to be most unusual.