Little Gray Lies
People want to be convinced…
He roared up in a Porche 911, its sleek body glowing like brushed chrome. Hopping out, he flipped the key to the valet, and said, “Have fun, buddy. But not too much fun!” He flashed a brilliant, toothy smile and made for the hotel’s revolving door, ignoring the guy in the gray business suit who’d been waiting to escort him in.
That would be me.
I’d stood at that curb anticipating Dr. Spence’s arrival for the past forty three minutes and eighteen seconds, which was thirty-three minutes and eighteen seconds too long. Yes, I’d timed him to the second. I knew him, you see, and knew he’d be late.
“I’ll take the claim check,” I told the flummoxed valet, who so far had only stared at the key, not sure what to do with it. A young black man with a narrow gaze, he frowned like he’d been doing this job for two lifetimes too long, although he’d lived no more than a quarter of a life to date. “I’m his handler,” I added.
The great man, Dr. Warren Spence, backed out of the revolving door he had already put one foot into, causing pileups on both sides, and waved to the valet. “He’s with me!” Then, oblivious to the curses spit his direction, he pushed through the door.
A moment later, claim check in pocket, I caught up with him in the lobby. “You’re late…
