Tom got into the passenger seat of the car. He could tell right away that Big Max was happy about something. This was a rare circumstance and Tom didn’t think he would enjoy finding out why.
“Guess where I was last night!” boomed Max as he started the engine and drove to join the traffic.
“Where?” said Tom.
“Lizzie and I went to have dinner at the Perfumed Celeriac in Humboldt Street,” said Max.
Oh no, thought Tom.
“And guess who we saw there! MY! BOY! TOMMY!” each of these last words punctuated with friendly punches to Tom’s arm, “in the company of a stunningly attractive woman! On a date!”
“Yes,” admitted Tom. “I was on a date.”
“Not only,” continued Max, “the two of you, because I happened to notice that the surrounding tables were all occupied with very large, very serious-looking bodyguard blokes with ill-fitting suits and, dare I say it, guns? All very exciting. So… tell me… who is she?”
Tom looked over at Max. “You are kidding, right?”
“No,” said Max.
“Do you ever read the news?” said Tom.
“Hey,” said Max, “I don’t keep up with celebrity gossip, I have no idea. Who is she? The latest pop princess? The star of the latest Hollywood blockbuster? Is she the one opposite Brian Krayvich in that thing with the jets and the dinosaurs?”
“No Max, no, no, no,” said Tom. “She’s the Foreign Secretary.”
For once, Big Max was taken aback.
“No!” he said.
“Yes,” said Tom.
To be continued…