Regulars

Minutes later, Abraham was panting an apology as he took off his Oxford shoes in the foyer of the penthouse apartment. “Désolé, désolé. Je me suis perdu dans le métro.”

“Welcome,” Diana said, her voice sickly sweet from the kitchen loft. “English only tonight!”

“Yes, darling,” he called out. Eyeing Simone, the friend with freakish hearing and lipreading—she flashed a thumbs-up and pulled her turtleneck up; the panopticon would not tattle—the blond man said in my ear: “She’s in a cranky mood. Grab a drink in the hotel bar after?”

“Sarah came along for the chicken nuggets,” I said, watching my wife come down to greet her brother. “Can you afford three drinks in this economy?”

He clicked his tongue as he received the customary peck on his cheek. “The Hilbert’s secret discount for residents and loved ones.”