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reading the menu.
    “I’m still hesitating between the chateaubriand and the pork tenderloin,” Andrew answered distantly.
    “I was talking about your life.”
    “I got that.”
    “Well?”
    “What do you want me to say, Simon?”
    “Each time I broach the subject of your marriage, you dodge the issue. I’m your best friend, okay? I just want to know how you’re feeling.”
    “Liar. You’re scrutinizing me like I’m some lab rat. You want to know what’s going through my mind in case this kind of thing happens to you one day.”
    “No risk of that!”
    “I could’ve told you that months ago.”
    “Okay, you’re my lab rat. So what really made you take the leap?” Simon quizzed, leaning closer to his friend. “Tell me: do you feel any different since you made this decision?”
    “Look, we’re both in our late thirties. The way I see it, we’ve only got two options. Either we keep screwing around . . . ”
    “That’s an attractive prospect!” Simon exclaimed.
    “ . . . and turn into one of those aging Lotharios who think fooling around with girls thirty years their junior will help them recapture their lost youth. Or we settle down.”
    “I’m not asking you to give me your theory of life. I’m asking if you love Valerie enough to want to spend the rest of your life with her.”
    “If I hadn’t asked you to be my best man, I’d probably say that’s none of your business.”
    “But I
am
your best man!”
    “The rest of my life? I’ve no idea, and anyway that doesn’t only depend on me. What I do know is that I can’t imagine my life without her anymore. I’m happy. I miss her when she’s not there. I’m never bored in her company. I love the way she laughs, and she laughs a lot. I think that’s what I find most attractive in a woman. As for our sex life . . . ”
    “Okay, okay,” Simon interrupted, “you’ve convinced me! The rest of it is definitely none of my business.”
    “But are you the best man?”
    “Yes, but I’m not responsible for what the two of you get up to in bed when the lights are off.”
    “Who said anything about turning off the lights?”
    “Okay, stop. Too much information. Can we change subjects?”
    “I’m going to go for the pork tenderloin,” Andrew said. “You know what’d make me really happy?”
    “Me writing a great speech for your wedding?”
    “No, I won’t ask for the impossible. What I’d really like is to wind up this evening at my new favorite bar.”
    “That Cuban place in SoHo?”
    “Argentinian.”
    “I’d had something else in mind, but it’s your night. Your wish is my command.”
     
    Novecento was jam-packed. Simon and Andrew managed to elbow their way through to the bar. Andrew ordered a Fernet topped up with Coke. Simon tasted it, made a face, and ordered a glass of red wine instead.
    “How on earth can you drink that stuff? It’s bitter as hell.”
    “I’ve knocked back a lot of these in Buenos Aires lately. You get used to it, believe me. Even end up liking it.”
    “Speak for yourself.”
    Simon spotted a Bond girl lookalike with a lot of leg, and peeled off with barely an apology. Andrew smiled as he watched his friend walk away. There was no doubt which of the two options he’d mentioned earlier Simon had chosen.
    A woman sat down on the bar stool Simon had just vacated and flashed Andrew a smile as he ordered a second Fernet and Coke. They exchanged some small talk. The young woman said she was surprised to see an American liking that drink; it was pretty unusual. Andrew replied that he was an unusual kind of guy. She smiled some more and asked him what made him so different. The question caught him off guard, as did the depth of the woman’s gaze.
    “What do you do?”
    “Uh, I’m a journalist,” Andrew stammered.
    “That’s an interesting job.”
    “Some days, yeah,” he answered.
    “Financial?”
    “Oh no. What made you think that?”
    “We’re not far from Wall Street.”
    “If I was