Intimate Strangers
Based on an idea proposed by the French film directed by Patrice Leconte.
"Okay, no problem Steve. I can take care of it for you." Bobby hung the phone up softly. He went to his desk and took out the master key ring. He thumbed through each one until he found the one for unit B1, the basement office.
Not uncommon in New York, the basement unit was a doctor's office, or more precisely a psychiatrist's office. Unfortunately, Dr. Monnier wouldn't be making it in today, or any other day for that matter. The call was from the landlord, letting Bobby know that Dr. Monnier had died at St. Vincent's after a short illness. Bobby didn't ask for details, after all those years, death didn't interest him much anymore.
Bobby walked down and outside and let himself into the office via the front door. He gave the brass name-plate a quick shine with his sleeve on his way through the door. He turned on the overhead lights and looked around the small office. An oak file cabinet, full of patient files, if the drawer that was slightly opened was any indication, a matching oak desk, a small suede sofa, two comfortable chairs and a bookcase occupied the small space.
Bobby closed the drawer and took stock. His task was to clear out the office and to prepare the unit to be re-rented. He took out one of his old detective notebooks and began to make a list. In addition to cleaning supplies, he noted that he'd need to box up and store the files. He observed a parched plant and took it into the bathroom to give it some water. When he came out, a young woman stood in the open doorway.
She extended her hand. "Good morning, Steven suggested that I see you." Bobby juggled the plant for a moment before putting it back on top of the file cabinet.
"Pleased to meet you. So Steven sent you?" He scratched his head. Steven was the landlord, and apparently he had already lined someone up to rent the space, but in his call, he hadn't mentioned anything about showing the unit. He indicated that she should sit in one of the chairs. He sat on the sofa. He picked his notebook up and toyed with his pen.
"Yes, I'm Anna, Anna Franklin." She crossed her very pretty legs, "I've never done this before." She seemed nervous.
"No problem. I've been at this for a while. Do you have any questions for me?" Bobby had memorized the simple questions on the application and he figured that if she were interested in leasing the office, that he could always go upstairs to get the paperwork. She looked around the office, he followed her gaze, "I haven't had a chance to clean it up; I do plan on getting to it."
She nodded, "So how does this work, I just tell you what I need?"
He shrugged, "That's as good a place as any to start." Bobby cursed Steven for not giving him a heads up. He would at least have had a notion of what Anna Franklin might have wanted.
"Well, my husband is having an affair." She said it for shock value.
It didn't go unnoticed, Bobby was shocked. "Oh." He jotted something down on the notebook, but only to avoid looking her in the eye.
"Yes, he doesn't know that I know. But a wife always knows. He's spending time away from home, he's distant and we hardly ever make love anymore, not that there's been much passion lately anyway." She fidgeted a bit, "I'm not really a smoker, but I think I'd be more comfortable with a cigarette, do you mind? For some reason, I feel like I should be smoking."
Bobby nodded his assent, he was thinking that at some point that Anna was going to tie her narrative back to renting the office. He found a dish for her to use as an ashtray and she continued as she wrestled with a brand new pack of Marlboros and a book of matches, "I'm angry, but I'm not upset, if that makes any sense." She finally freed one and lit it up, exhaling the smoke in his direction.
"I'm going to open a window." He got up and cranked the side window open. A spring breeze wafted through.
"I mean, I suppose I have to divorce him or something and frankly, I'm not in the mood. Does that make me crazy?" She puffed again and flicked the ash into the saucer.
"No." Bobby didn't really know what to make of Anna, but she was pretty and something about her kept him interested in her story.
"Good, I was beginning to worry. Personally, I haven't been all that interested in Jerry for a while now, I'm rather glad he's found someone to talk to. I'm not sure I still love him. If I loved him, wouldn't I feel…something about this?"
Bobby nodded, then he corrected himself, "no, yes, uh, don't you feel anything?"
Anna thought for a moment and shook her head, "no. Nothing. Maybe I'm depressed."
"Maybe," he agreed.
"I'm not interested in any drugs for it though." She leaned forward and gestured with her cigarette, "I'm not into that sort of thing."
"It's your choice," he said with equanimity, "so…what do you think?" Referring to the office.
She thought for a moment. "I feel comfortable with you. Tell you what, how about I come back next week, same time?" She rose and stubbed out her cigarette. The butt smoldered in the saucer. She fished around in her purse and handed him two, hundred dollar bills. "I'd prefer to keep this between us."
He pocketed the money, "need a receipt?"
She shook her head, "no. "
"Okay, then I'll be here next week." He got up to show her to the door.
"Next week then." She smiled, "I think this might work out really well."
Bobby closed the door behind her, "interesting." He continued with the inventory and his list. "I wonder if she's going to want to keep the furniture."