True, the Point was a respectable gay bar, not a dive or dump. But still, really rich people didn’t usually drink here. So what was up?
I hadn’t gotten the plastic wrap off the sandwich when there was a soft knock on the door, and it eased open. Joel stood in the doorway, looking a lot more grim and older than he did the one day at school.
“Hey, can I come in a minute and talk?” He slid inside and closed the door.
He sat down in Charlie’s visitor chair. I was behind the desk in the more comfortable office chair, the one I used when I helped Charlie with the books.
“What do you want?” I asked. Sure, curiosity had bitten me, but his showing up where I work? A little too much.
“I wanted to thank you for when you saved my ass.” He was staring at me, which put me off my PBJ Charlie-style.
