“I believe I have your attention.”
“To say that I did not like her, that I resented my present predicament, would be, as the late, not so great Saddam Hussein might have said, the mother of all understatements. ”
There was a time when I ran this place. My old friend, Ian, was the actual owner, but he was in no position to direct an establishment such as this. Frankly there were days when it was as much as he could do to get out of bed, though he still managed to open a bottle unaided.
His other seminal contribution was his name, and there was no way at all that this establishment could bear any other brand. Once a lowly, not to say rude, watering hole on the fringes of the Byward Market in the downtown core of Canada’s capital city, I turned it into a place where those charged with the direction of the nation's affairs would habitually commingle. Here they consult and cut their deals in discrete surroundings, to the accompaniment of a fine food and beverage service, and the strict absence of muzak and TV screens.
Yes, until Ian's untimely death, until his daughter and sole heir, the enigmatic, enervating Évette, came into her inheritance and usurped my position, I was the undisputed manager of a veritable national institution. I was a secret friend to the great and the good, though I never did seek to emulate the name given me by a lowly documenteer, figuratively, homophonically, I mean. Not actually, of course.
That is the past, and this is the present. You will still find me here, though now in a somewhat diminished capacity, formally at least, the éminence grise at the restaurant's front desk. I go by the name of Paul Passchen, and it is my honour to welcome you to the House of Comens. Soyez les bienvenus.
“With, then, the dicky knee, no cane, an over-enthusiastic push, and an unseen largish pebble, I suddenly went sprawling forward onto the ground, nastily grazing my nose and losing my reading glasses, which I was wearing at the time, and which naturally impaired my distance vision – a further factor that I should have mentioned.”
“You’re the man with balls, aren’t you? I seem to have been left alone to settle the bill, but I think I’ve mislaid my credit card. Be a good man and call my office tomorrow. They’ll take care of it.”
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