Interlude: Jerome

June 26, 2008 Danae Klimt
Tags: martin

When the phone rang last night, I knew who it was even before I picked it up.

“Jerome?  It’s Martin.”

As if I wouldn’t recognize that those crisp Nordic angles in his voice, just from his saying my name.  Even if I didn’t already know he was calling before I picked up, before the phone rang.

“Martin.”  I didn’t say anything else, but I didn’t have to.

“I am leaving in about an hour to fly over to the States.  I’m coming into Kennedy, but I can be at Friendship by the evening.  I want to see you, Jerome.  Dinner? Are you free?”

Am I free?  That’s a good question.  Do I want to see Martin?  Do I want to have dinner with him?  Can I be available for dinner tomorrow night?

“Yes, I will be.”

“Meet me at the airport, then?  There are some new restaurants there I’d like to try.”  Only Martin would get a thrill out of dining in an airport mall.

“All right.  Call me when you get to Kennedy, can you? and give me an estimate.”

“Of course.”  Martin was silent for a moment.  I didn’t offer anything.  “I’ve missed you, Hieronymus.  I’ll call you from New York.”

He hung up.  I stood by the phone like I was waiting.  For something.  I stood there for a while.

This evening I’m riding the light rail to the airport to pick up Martin and have dinner.

Right.  Have dinner.

Entry Filed under: Jerome

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