Breaking up The Break up

The streetlights sparked to life outside, helping illuminate the office. The sudden change in atmosphere caught Artie off guard, so he turned around to find his suspicions confirmed. The real reason it had been so difficult to understand Rupert, his current client, was that Rupert's face was buried between his knees. Artie had been far too focused on his glass case of cufflinks, simply tuning out the strange, muffled, nasal whimpering coming from across the room. Still, he had to admit: Rupert had sounded exactly like a man talking into his own lap.

"Rupert, when you hired me, you knew uncovering your partner's betrayal was on the table," Artie said, opening a wardrobe to reveal an immaculate collection of bow ties. "It's why I hate infidelity cases. People never seem prepared for the actual infidelity."

"I'm sorry, Monsieur de Batz. I'll see myself out," Rupert replied, crushed and defeated.

Rupert turned to go, but Artie scoffed. "Another pathetic retreat," he muttered, tossing his leather satchel against the door just as Rupert reached for the handle.

"B-but... I've already paid you in full," Rupert stammered.

Fastening a vibrant yellow-and-green striped bow tie around his neck, Artie glanced over with a sharp, eager grin. "My dear fellow, my services don't end with bad news."

Soon, the two men were whisking across the city in a suspended monorail. Rupert stared out the window into the gloom.

"Don't let your eyes wander off into the distance, things are so unclear you're unsure what you're looking at," Artie scolded, tapping the glass right in front of Rupert's nose.

Rupert blinked, his gaze snapping back from the skyline to settle on his own grim reflection in the pane.

"There you go," Artie remarked. "Now you're looking at what I'm actually here to fix."

"So why are we heading toward the market square?" Rupert asked, shivering slightly against the evening chill.

"Because right over there, in that bistro window, is your boyfriend Marc having dinner with his lover." Artie jabbed a thumb toward the red-and-white-striped awning, squaring his posture like a fighter stepping into the ring.

The reality of the situation dawned on Rupert. His shoes began to feel as though they were filling with cement. "I... I... I can't."

"Oh, but you must, my dear Rupert. You showed courage coming to me, seeking the truth, but now you must show panache, and break this farce on your own victorious terms."

Like a mindless automaton, Rupert walked toward the restaurant. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw Artie wagging a fist and mouthing, "Panache."

Rupert pushed inside, striding past a waiter who asked him to wait to be seated. Past an older couple celebrating an anniversary, past two men vehemently arguing with each other, he marched straight up to Marc's lover.

"Hello. I'm Marc's current—though, after this, ex—boyfriend. We were together for nearly two years. He made me laugh, he loves nature, and you can always count on him for a great movie recommendation. But right now, I'm breaking up with him."

Marc's lover stared, his eyes looking as if they might pop right out of his head. Marc himself didn't dare turn around.

"Goodbye," Rupert said.

Artie was waiting outside and draped his heavy wool coat over Rupert's shoulders the moment he stepped out of the restaurant.

"Oh, this feels wonderfully warm and cozy," Rupert murmured, touching the thick material of the collar. "What is it?"

"Your dignity, my boy. Your dignity."