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I laughed. “I survived.”
“Yeah. I can see.”
Was this building full of socially impaired people?
“Hey, wanna grab a pint?” He pointed downstairs. “It’s still a little light out, and your upstairs neighbor has a cello lesson until ten.”
“Nice selling point, but I’m gonna call it a night.” I was one step into the apartment when Charlie tsked behind me.
“Too bad. I’m wrapping up this documentary about Maasai Mara, and I need a professional eye to help me pick the film poster.”
I stopped. Glanced behind my shoulder. “And you know I’m a photographer because ...?”
“You’re holding a professional camera.” Charlie gestured to my shoulder. “And I’m not a complete idiot.”
That remained to be seen. Most people definitely fell into theidiotcategory.
Actually, going over someone else’s photos of one of Kenya’s most breathtaking wonders wasn’t the worst thing I could do with my evening. Especially when the alternative was bickering with the hot prude from hell.
“Yeah, okay.” I closed the door. “One drink.”
At the bar, Charlie and I ordered Carlton Draughts and went through the Maasai Mara photos. They weren’t terrible, but they weren’t groundbreaking either.
I pointed at one of the pictures, of an elephant standing next to a tree, dwarfing it. “This is your cum shot. Background’s insane. The desert looks like Mercury, but it could use some work.”
It could’ve been better if the photographer had used a Canon 100–400mm. The filter was all wrong too. Charlie propped an elbow against the sticky bar, tapping the photo.
“See, it was my favorite, too, but for a completely different reason.”
“Oh yeah?”
“If you look carefully, the elephant looks like it’s crying.”
I squinted, paying better attention to the photo. The elephant did look like it was crying.
“You’ve been making documentaries long?” I eyed him, taking a pull of my beer.
“Long enough to call it a job and not a hobby.” He laughed easily. “For a couple decades now. But I started out late, and only because I ran out of money.”
“What’d you do before?” I asked.
“Older, affluent women, mainly.” His hand shook as he gathered all the photos scattered on the bar. Was he an alcoholic?
I nodded. “It’s a hard knocks life out there for an aging fox.”
“And you?” Charlie eyed me. “You’ve been a photographer long?”
“Since I graduated from boarding school.” I fidgeted with my coaster, wondering idly if my fake fiancée had more lingerie like I’d seen the night she walked in on Gretchen and me. “I knew academia wasn’t for me and wanted to see as much of the world in the least amount of time. We never know when we’ll drop dead, right?”
“If we’re lucky, we don’t.” Charlie stroked his chin thoughtfully. “If we’re unlucky, we do.”
“Okay, Socrates.” I was too jaded for his philosophical ass tonight. “You get my point.”
“Do you have any reason to think you might die young?” He picked up his beer, his hand still shaking. Something was wrong with this guy, but just because he’d shoved his nose into my business didn’t mean I was going to return a favor.
“Nah.” I looked around the bar, people watching for potential hookups. “I just needed an excuse to be a nomad.”
“So now you live here, in the city?”
