Implode (To Dine at Jean Georges)

His face had begun to itch.

It was uncomfortable now.

The chestnut whiskers had run their course.

Two years. And counting.

Still, he could not bring himself to eradicate the hairs from his person.

Instead, he found himself mesmerized by the platinum and jasper pendulum Claire had bartered for in Shanghai.

Fascinated, even.

He followed the globule’s synchronized movement with his hazelnut eyes.

Claire observed, whilst drying a lime colored ceramic bowl with a tangerine cloth. She was hospitable, by nature.

But she was still disappointed in Maxwell.

Unbeknownst to her, she was in his thoughts a few blocks away, reclined in the Mulberry Forseti, as the sun washed in through the large French windows of his office.

Neil Horowitz sat across from the Platonist architect, awaiting his next vision.

“His name is Ben. He’s been away for some time.”

Neil, his contemporary spectacles in harmonious accord with his face, listened attentively.

“Apparently, before he left, he parted with his finances.”

Neil digested his colleague’s story.

“And he’s staying with you?”

“I’m going to help him piece together a dialogue of his travels.”

“Interesting. There may be a book there.”

Maxwell focused on the assortment of customized pens on his desk.

“What are you doing tonight?” Neil continued.

“I have some sketches to complete. As well as some paperwork for the restaurant.”

“Brilliant. When does she want to open?”

“Soon. Very soon.”

Neil stood and prepared to exit.

“Lucy and I are going to Jean Georges at seven. You and Claire should join us.”

Maxwell thought momentarily.

“I’d love to. But Ben…”

“Bring him along. I’d love to meet him.”

Implode. Part XII - DK