"Twenty-two fifty?" We can't hide our exasperation.
"Well, yeah--this is a classy joint, you know."
"That's obvious--the service is incredible."
And now we sit in the boiling-hot outdoor section of the cafe, sweating and waiting for this breakfast. Margaret takes great pleasure in passing us while she delivers other people's food. We're close to asking her a few times just where ours has vanished to, but we know that will only serve to make us wait longer. People are actually eating lunch before we eat our breakfast, and when it finally comes, Margaret slops it down on our table like she's serving us compost.
"Cheers, love," Marv says. "You've outdone yourself."
Margaret blows her nose and walks off. Savage indifference.
"How's yours?" inquires Marv soon after. "Or more to the point, what is it?"
"Eggs and cheese and something."
"Do you even like eggs?"
"No."
"Then why'd you get it?"
"Well, it didn't look like eggs when it was on that other guy's plate."
"Fair enough. You want some of mine?"
I take up the offer and eat some of his flat bread. Not bad, really, and I finally ask Marv exactly why he's chosen today of all days to take me out to breakfast. It's never happened before. I've never gone out for breakfast in my life. That, and Marv would never even consider paying for me. That simply wouldn't be on. Under normal circumstances, he'd rather die.
"Marv," I say, looking straight at him, "why are we here?"
He shakes his head. "I--"
"You're making sure I turn up to the game this afternoon, aren't you? You're sweetening me up."
Marv can't lie to me on this, and he knows it. "That would about cover it."
"I'll be there," I tell him. "Four o'clock sharp."
"Good."
The rest of the day glides by. Thankfully, Marv gives me the next few hours off, so I go home and sleep some more.
When the time comes around, I walk to the Grounds with the Doorman, who has picked up on my recent happiness, despite the mess I appear to be.
We stop off at Audrey's.
No one home.
Maybe she's already at the Grounds. She does hate the soccer, but she's always there, every year.
It's nearly quarter to four when we walk into the valley where the Grounds are, and I remember Sophie and me here, over at the athletic track. It makes this game look pitiful--which it is. A crowd is already gathering at the soccer field, while the athletic track is empty but for barefoot images of the girl.
I watch the beauty for as long as I can, then turn and face the rest of it.
The closer I get, the stronger the smell of beer. It's hot. About thirty-two.
The two teams are in different corners of the field, and a crowd of a few hundred is slowly growing bigger. It's always a bit of an event, the Sledge Game. It's held the first Saturday of December every year, and I think this is the fifth time it's been put on. As for me, this is my third year.
I leave the Doorman in the shade of a tree, and when I approach the team, the ones who notice me take a second look at my face. Their interest, however, leaves them pretty fast. They're the type of people who see bruises and blood quite a lot.