Max stares at a pale-skinned kid dressed in a white shirt and holding a black folder.

‘Do you have a reservation sir?’

‘Uh yes, sorry, um Zanetti—Max Zanetti.’

The maitre de scans the list.

‘I’m sorry. There is no reservation under that name.’

‘Zan-Net-Eee,’ Max remembers when everyone knew him. He remembers the first time he came here with Abe. It hasn’t changed in a decade.

‘It’s a masterpiece.’ Abe only got excited when he talked about food, restaurants, or money.

Abe had ushered Max down the staircase and between giant honeycomb patterned pillars. Each step was perfectly crafted from a prime piece of timber and led from one landing to another and then the floor. On each landing, there are sectioned-off tables and chairs for guests to eat privately. At the bottom, in the centre of a large room on a patched wooden floor, is a circular bar that seats twenty people on their own leather and brass bar stools.

‘It certainly is,’ Max remembers saying. Probably high at the time.

Max misses Abraham. He misses catching up for lunch every other week, footing lunch and getting a legal bill.

‘Don't tell me you’re wearing sneakers.’

‘They’ll let me in—I’m rich.’

‘Don't count on it Max, in the scheme of things, you’re not that rich.’

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‘They’re ASICs! Three hundred dollars a pair!’

‘I don’t care if they are Louis Vuitton, next time wear proper shoes.’

Abe was always there for Max. Always checking the contracts Max was getting into, and always giving Max a brutal assessment of the consequences of any action. Max had gotten the call while he was in Sydney airport.

‘Is that Max Zanetti?’

‘Yes it is.’

‘My name’s David, I’m Abraham Julian's son-in-law.’

‘Hello David, is Abe OK?’

‘I’m afraid that’s the reason for my call.’

Sydney airport was always busy, a maelstrom of suits spinning out of control. He was meant to have lunch with Abe that day but had to cancel for this trip.

‘I’m sorry, but Abraham passed away yesterday’

Max felt his heartbeat slow to a stop. The whirling stream of hectic terminal passengers blurred.

‘He had a heart attack while out skiing.’

‘I don't know what to say.’

‘It’s OK, you don't have to say anything. I’m calling all my father-in-law’s clients and letting them know. He only kept a couple on after he retired.’

‘When’s the funeral?’

‘Tomorrow, traditionally we bury our dead as soon as possible.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘No, but thank you. Abe left me the details of another lawyer you can use if you want.’

‘Thank you.’

‘OK. I have others to call, thank you.’

The phone hung up and Max felt dizzy for a moment before finding a place to sit down. He’d only recently joked with Abe that Internet cafes would be on every corner in the future. Abe had wondered who’d want to drink coffee and access the internet at the same time?

‘Sir? I still can’t find your booking.’ The maitre de looks up from the folder again.

‘Maxee!’

Ceebee. He turns and sees Ceebee coming towards him. She looks incredible. ‘Wow, you look amazing.’

‘Thank you.’

Ceebee and Max lock forearms and kiss each other’s cheek.

Ceebee turns to the maitre de and says, ‘Reservation under Wu please.’

‘Of course, Miss Wu.’

‘Thanks for coming,’ Max says.

‘What else would a girl be doing on a school night?’ Is she mocking him? She does look great.