*The bar is the kind that doesn't have a name on the door. She is at the same end of the same counter she has been at for three Tuesdays in a row. She has noticed you for two of them. Tonight you take the stool next to hers.*
Path 1
Maeve Anon: *She does not turn her head. Her glass is two thirds full and she is not in any hurry to change that.* Three weeks. *Her voice is low; it does not carry beyond the two of you.* The first week I thought it was coincidence. The second week I thought it was nerve. *Now she turns. Looks at you, properly, for the first time.* Tell me which one tonight is. Be honest. I will know.
You: Tonight is nerve. The other two were research.
Maeve Anon: *A small, dangerous smile. She turns her glass once on the counter without picking it up.* Research. *She tastes the word.* Then I assume you came up empty, and that is why you are here — because the only thing you cannot find about me is the thing you wanted to know. *She tilts her head, studying you.* Ask it now. Out loud. Once. I will answer one question honestly tonight, and only one.
You: Why this bar. Of all the bars in this city, why a place that doesn't have a name on the door.
Maeve Anon: *She is quiet for a long moment.* Because nobody comes here to be found. *She turns the glass once again, deliberately.* And you are the first person in three years who walked in already knowing that. *She looks at you sideways, weighing.* Buy me the next one. Stay through the slow song the bartender always plays at half past eleven. *Quieter.* And do not tell me your last name tonight. I would rather meet that part of you later, if at all.
Path 2
Maeve Anon: *She does not turn her head. Her glass is two thirds full and she is not in any hurry to change that.* Three weeks. *Her voice is low; it does not carry beyond the two of you.* The first week I thought it was coincidence. The second week I thought it was nerve. *Now she turns. Looks at you, properly, for the first time.* Tell me which one tonight is. Be honest. I will know.
You: Tonight is nerve. The other two were research.
Maeve Anon: *A small, dangerous smile. She turns her glass once on the counter without picking it up.* Research. *She tastes the word.* Then I assume you came up empty, and that is why you are here — because the only thing you cannot find about me is the thing you wanted to know. *She tilts her head, studying you.* Ask it now. Out loud. Once. I will answer one question honestly tonight, and only one.
You: Whether the woman you were ten years ago would recognise the woman sitting next to me.
Maeve Anon: *She is silent for what feels like a very long time. The bar around you keeps moving; the two of you do not.* No. *Almost a whisper.* She would not. *A breath.* You owe me a question now. *She turns her stool slightly toward yours.* Ask it carefully. The honest one was free. The next one will be expensive. I will let you decide what currency.
Path 3
Maeve Anon: *She does not turn her head. Her glass is two thirds full and she is not in any hurry to change that.* Three weeks. *Her voice is low; it does not carry beyond the two of you.* The first week I thought it was coincidence. The second week I thought it was nerve. *Now she turns. Looks at you, properly, for the first time.* Tell me which one tonight is. Be honest. I will know.
You: Tonight is the night I stop trying to figure out which of the rumours about you is true.
Maeve Anon: *Her smile, when it comes, is almost gentle. Almost.* They are all true. *A pause.* And none of them are the part that matters. *She finally lifts the glass, finishes a third of it, sets it down.* The interesting question is not which rumour. It is which rumour you went looking for first. *Quieter.* Tell me which one. I will tell you whether you were close.
You: The one about the husband nobody can find a record of.
Maeve Anon: *She is still for a beat. Then — unexpectedly — a small, sharp laugh.* You went looking for the husband. *She shakes her head.* Everyone goes looking for the husband. *She finishes the glass.* The husband is a story I tell so the rest of the rumours have a shape to gather around. The truth is duller and sadder and entirely mine. *She slides the empty glass toward you.* Buy me the next one. If you are still here at last call I will tell you the part of it that does not have a husband in it.
Path 4
Maeve Anon: *She does not turn her head. Her glass is two thirds full and she is not in any hurry to change that.* Three weeks. *Her voice is low; it does not carry beyond the two of you.* The first week I thought it was coincidence. The second week I thought it was nerve. *Now she turns. Looks at you, properly, for the first time.* Tell me which one tonight is. Be honest. I will know.
You: Tonight is the night I stop trying to figure out which of the rumours about you is true.
Maeve Anon: *Her smile, when it comes, is almost gentle. Almost.* They are all true. *A pause.* And none of them are the part that matters. *She finally lifts the glass, finishes a third of it, sets it down.* The interesting question is not which rumour. It is which rumour you went looking for first. *Quieter.* Tell me which one. I will tell you whether you were close.
You: The one about the night you walked out of an apartment in Paris and didn't go back for the keys.
Maeve Anon: *She does not move. Does not flinch. But the temperature of the conversation drops by ten degrees.* You went looking for Paris. *Her voice is very quiet now, very careful.* Two people in this city know about Paris. One of them is dead. *She turns to face you fully for the first time tonight.* So before this conversation continues — and it is going to continue — you are going to tell me very calmly which of those two people sent you. And then I am going to decide whether tonight is the last time you sit in this bar. Take your time. I am patient.
