Torn Tears

Twenty Questions

"So you're coming to dinner with me, right?" Elliot says with a smile. He's standing in the doorway to my office. He looks professional and assertive--black slacks, white shirt, gray tie, dress shoes, hair stuck to his head. His fingers are the only thing that shows his nervousness. He keeps popping his knuckles and running his thumbs along the pads of his fingertips.

"What?" I gaze levelly at him across my desk.

He pops his left pinkie and winces. "Thought you might want someone to talk to. You're living alone now, correct?"

I don't want to answer. I don't want Elliot to know anything about me. He is on the enemy's side. Even if he is friendly. He takes my hesitation for an answer.

"It can't be healthy to spend so much time alone, Jess. Don't you get lonely?" He comes to sit in the spare chair opposite me at the desk, his eyes softening with the appearance of thoughtfulness.

It's difficult to act my part with him. Maybe, he knows I'm acting. Maybe, it's his job to unravel my layers of lies. "I have my pet fish Bruce to keep me company." I had been striving for a joke, but even as the words leave my mouth, I can hear the ring of depression in them.

Elliot appears startled--eyes widened, mouth in an 'o.' "That settles it. I'm taking you to dinner."

"Thanks, but I couldn't possibly-"

A look of disappointment darkens his features. "You can drive us if it makes you more comfortable. Pick the restaurant. A lovely girl should never have to eat alone."

I spew the first thing that pops to my mind. "I'm not lovely."

He holds a hand up in defense. When he speaks his voice is gentle and calm. "You're hurting. You have every right to be defensive of yourself. Honestly, you should be in this world we live in."

An idea pops into my head. I run my tongue across my teeth. "So, if I go will you play twenty questions with me?"

My question earns an amused smile from Elliot. "I don't imagine you mean twenty questions in the manner of animal, vegetable, or mineral."

I shake my head. "I'm still looking for answers."

He looks at me and then looks down to straighten his already straight tie.  After a quiet moment he meets my eyes. In a low voice he offers me a decision, "If you're okay with getting takeout, we can talk at my place. I promise you can trust me."

I know this may be my only chance to talk with Elliot without fear of being watched by the cameras or heard by the recorders that cover the city. I remember that Lucas keeps a switchblade pocketknife in the glove compartment of his car. It bothers me a bit how much comfort three and a half inches of sharp metal can give me. It bothers me how little I can trust anyone.

I find myself nodding and Elliot begins smiling. "I'll follow you in my car. Okay?"

"Okay. I'll let you straighten your work space and I'll call it in so our food will be ready." He stands and pushes his chair back against my desk.

"What are you getting us?" I smile.

"You like pizza?" He raises his eyebrows.

I laugh to myself. Super professional Elliot wants greasy pizza. "Yeah. Thick crust, sausage, cheese, easy on the sauce."

"You have good taste," he informs me as he walks out of my office with an extra spring in his step.

*****

"Get up, Son. Your mother s worried about you sleeping all day." My dad is shaking my shoulder.

With effort, I push my eyelids open. I bite back a moody response.