The Parnell Affair by Seth James

went to grocery stores—in a satin dress and a mink coat.  I go in denim,” she said, dropping a glance at her jeans.
    “It's not an outfit's material but its contents that makes it beautiful,” he said, his head tilting to one side.  What, are you insane? he shouted internally.  Don't flirt with Parnell's wife; Christ, you need him as a source.  “I stole that from one of my MEs,” he said, glancing left and right and lowering his voice.  He shrugged and went on as if confessing: “I was about nineteen and trying to communicate to the 'general reading audience' just why the punk and hardcore scenes were falling over themselves for someone who dressed like Joan Jett.”
    “Oh,” she said, not sounding disappointed but thinking how a wedding ring might inhibit a nice man, even during harmless flirting.  “It's a good line, though,” she said with a shrug of her own.
    “Yeah,” he said.  “Rather reckless of him to give away dynamite like that to a nineteen year-old kid.”
    “Ha, that's true,” she said.  “I had a teacher once, an old, ancient professor, who said the reason he was a lifelong bachelor—he was seventy-eight at the time—was because his grandfather had given him a copy of Marvell when he was ten and he'd used To His Coy Mistress to seduce his,” she paused to swallow a laugh, “sixteen year-old next-door neighbor.”
    “Oh my god,” he said.  “Yeah, that's why you don't give carpe diem poems to kids.  I don't know if that's horrifying or if I want to congratulate the guy.”
    “It probably wasn't true,” she said.  “He was getting a little senile.  He was a despicable misogynist in many ways, but it was hard to hold it against him because he was so harmless, so funny.  Like a little crippled Pan.”  They shared a laugh.
    “Oh, boy,” he said, shaking his head.  “I'm a bachelor, too: I wonder if that's how I'm going to end up in thirty some years—as a cautionary anecdote.”
    “You, a bachelor?” she said, looking him over.  There you go, she congratulated herself; keep going.  “How many divorces?”
    “None,” he laughed.  “Really.”
    “Are you sure?” she said.
    “You think I might be married without my knowledge?” he asked, waited a beat and then dropped his lopsided grin in a feigned look of surprise and fear.  “Christ, you don't think that's possible, do you?”
    She laughed the way a woman laughs when happy that a man has tried to make her laugh.  “Well, as long as you were never in Vegas,” she said, “and drunk, you're probably safe.”  He made a 'whew' gesture.
    “I guess you came by to talk to Joe again?” she asked.  “He went back to the office today.”
    “On a Friday?” Tobias said. “Probably an all email day,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets.
    “I can only imagine,” she said, thinking: why did you steer back to work?
    “Clearing out from his trip to Niger,” Tobias said.  “Did you go with him?  Oh, and I already have confirmation,” he said quickly, reaching into his jacket and tilting Joe's white paper into view.  “Off the record and all that; just wondering.”
    “That's okay,” she said as the NOC perked up her ears.  “I don't think where we go is a secret—he's not with the State Department anymore.  We moved back here so the girls could have a more normal school life; high school's tough enough, wasn't it?”
    “Always,” he said.  “For everyone.”
    “But I sometimes miss all the traveling we did,” she continued.  “And I don't seem to do as much for my business as I used to.  So whenever I get the chance—” she said and trailed off.
    “Right,” he said.  “Did he happen to tell you what we talked about earlier?”
    “Yes,” she said, “but I couldn't—”
    “Oh, no, of course not,” he said.  “I was just wondering if he was still considering letting me write a little of what we talked about or, I don't know, tell me a bit more?” he said and gave