… but I know what I will find and I will never shed a tear, if not for you.
With this line in my mind and a copy of Anaïs Nin’s A Spy in the House of Love in my hand, a supposed well-thought-out approach, in several senses and to its fine details, I prepared my move, trying to make real what every guy else doesn’t even dared to dream.
I held it discreetly as I entered the bar, not to sound snooty. That was the biggest risk I took. Many, many of the regular customers of that clip joint were really rather snobbish.
That was a fine line and I treaded it gracefully. The book felt naturally in my hands even when I used it to point her a vacant table.
We left the counter and as soon as we sat down, before she had the time to ask about it, which she surely would do the next thing, I wrote down those somewhat enigmatic lines right on the front cover.
By the time she had read them, the table was already crowded. So she slipped the book into her purse.