They exchanged glances, Philip looked away for a brief moment and thought “It must be wrong, it can’t be her.” She had an expression in her face like when you come home in the evening, expecting some calm time in front of the TV and you see your mother-in-law standing in the doorway. Surprised, but not happy. Her expression changed to an artificial smile. Philip had been right. It was her. Danielle. They had not met for over ten years. Last time at a party, where they had classified as incompatible at the very first moment. Totally incompatible. She was the good girl. He was the weird, bad guy. Not conforming to the “successful people norm”. To meet her now, was awkward. He had expressed his disliking with a few arrogant remarks at that party. She, had naturally, placed him in the “jerk, loser, pretentious” category. Now he was here. He had to deal with it. A quick walk over the floor and he was there, shaking her hand.
“Hey, long time no see! How are you doing? What brings you here?”
“What are you doing here?”
“A few small jobs. Just to pay the rent you know.” She didn’t know. He was a smuggler now. Coordinating the import of chemicals to drug labs. It was a huge business. Someone had to supply all the ecstasy, meth and LSD labs with their raw materials. He was that one.
“I remember now. You were at that party a few years ago.”
“So, what are you up to now?”
“Writing for a magazine. Some stuff online. About celebrities. Have to earn a living too. Guess you are not reading Stars Magazine?”
“Not my type of literature, but it sounds like a good career. Let’s sit down, I have the table over there.” They went over to the table and sat down. It was a nice place. Huge windows, facing the water canals. The light, wooden walls were covered with little pieces of funny metal objects in all shapes, the modern type of art. People were going to this place for long chats with their friends and colleagues or to just read one of the many newspapers they offered in the stand in the middle of the enormous place. They served all types of drinks and their sandwiches were famous. Danielle continued their conversation.
“Came to the town a week ago. Have been here with some friends, went to a few concerts. But tell me what you have been doing since we met last time.”
“Got a job in London, for an importing business. It’s paying well. Cannot complain.”
“Is that somehow related to what you did before.. you know… with your weird friends from Norway?” She whispered the last words.
“No one can hear us.. you mean my weed smoking buddies.. if it’s about drugs?”
“Yes.”
“What if it is? Does it bother you?”
“Well, yes.. I don’t want to have anything to do with it and I don’t support it. Morally. I never did, back then, and I don’t know either.”
“So.. you did everything.. morally?”
“I don’t sell drugs.”
“You never took a joint in your whole life?”
“No. Honestly. Never. Would never do.”
“Is it because it is illegal? That it makes you a criminal?”
“Only losers do drugs and hang out with gangs. Tell me exactly what you do, that is so innocent about it.”
“There is no ‘gang’ and I stopped the drugs.”
“Not even alcohol?”
“Not even that.”
“Oh, so you are Jesus or what? The fucking good guy?” The conversation had turned bad quickly. Too quickly. They were both upset.
“Listen.. what do you do yourself all day long? You write about celebrities.. stars.. right? Those super models, musicians and film actors.”
“Yes.. it’s a decent job!”
“Is it? You invent stories about people and ruin their lives. Tell the masses they raped their children and got fucked up on coke and stole money from their parents when they grew up and that they cheated on their boyfriend. You are just as filthy as me. I supply what the people want – drugs. You supply what the people want – cheap gossip. What’s the difference between us? Just because you dress nicely, talk nicely and have a nice job doesn’t mean what you are doing is any better than what I do. ”
“Well.. for a start.. I don’t make people kill themselves after an overdose of drugs. If that doesn’t bother you, something is wrong. ”
“Someone dying does bother me. What about that actor who committed suicide last year, after the press wrote about his gay relationship? Wasnt that in a sense.. to ‘kill’ someone?”
“You can’t put it like that! It’s not the same arena.. ”
“Fucking hell it is! You make people’s life miserable, to amuse the masses. I, on the other hand, at least give people a few hours of fun. People who probably never have much fun anyway. You can’t fucking therapize all the problems away, sometimes you just need that joint or pill or cocktail to escape your miserable life. That’s where I come in.”
“You are self-righteous, psychopathic moron and if I ever see you near my friends I will put a fucking sign on your head saying you are a criminal!”
“Well fuck you! Why did I ever start talking to you?”
“Yeah, why did you?! If you don’t have the guts to grow up and take a normal job as a normal man, you should be locked up.”
“You fucking pretentious, bitch!” He threw his drink in her face.
Here Danielle took a fork, stabbed Philip in his shoulder, who started screaming. The blood was flowing and the waiters started rushing towards their table. Now they were both screaming at each other furiously and the blood formed a little pool on the floor.

Ok, that didn’t go too well. How about we do it all over again and now use a different approach?

“Hi! Excuse me, it’s you Danielle, right?”
“Is indeed. How are you, Philip?”
“Thank you, not too bad. Enjoying a drink here. Maybe you would like to join me at the table?”
“Oh, lovely. Of course. It’s been such a long time since I saw you.”
“I heard you found a writing job for a .. magazine. Congratulations!”
“Oh thank you. It’s one of those celebrity magazines. It is a quite good way to make a living. How do you do yourself now?”
“Have a few jobs here and there, getting by. A drink? On my tab.”
“Yes, thank you! I will just have a mineral water. I only have an hour, so we better do the most of the time. Do you mind if I ask what area you are working in?”
“In the chemical business. I would like not to discuss the particulars of the work, because I have to protect my clientèle.”
“Of course! How are you enjoying your stay here in the town?”
“It’s been a pleasure so far. Have been to a few clubs and the museums of course. The art is famous here.”
“Yes, I went to the museum of modern art the other day, and their exhibition about the development of the town was quite interesting. Have you seen it?”
“Actually, I did. There was one thing that really caught my attention, when they talked about the role of the cafés as a cultural ‘motor’.”

And so the conversation went on for another hour or so and they both left happily and drunk.
No blood and no screaming. Everyone happy. Or were they?