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6
Natalie
I would have to go back later and examine why I’d lied to him about both my name and my job. Actually, I hadn’t outright lied to him—it wasn’t as though I’d told him I was a car mechanic called Sarah—Chantelle was my middle name, and I was technically a teacher. Still, my desire for anonymity was curious, even to me. It was an idle chat with a stranger in a bar. No need for the weird cloak-and-dagger routine.
“There’s not going to be any other time, so it’s now or never.”
I saw his disappointment as he registered my words, but it was fleeting, and moments later he carried on as though it was no biggie. I wondered about that too. We were two people in busy nightspot, chatting about random inconsequential nonsense. Why would there be a repeat occasion? More to the point, why would he care?
Inconsequential though it may have been, I definitely enjoyed hearing his thoughts on both versions of the movie, before he then moved on to his top ten, all-time favorites, at my request. For someone so young—and he really was young; eighteen, nineteen, maybe?—he knew a lot about movies. All his choices were smart, quirky and interesting, not mainstream blockbuster crap. He clearly had great taste, and a good head on his shoulders.
He was giving me his take on the cultural significance of Marlon Brando’s wifebeater in A Streetcar Named Desire, when his words faded mid-sentence. He hadn’t looked away from me since we’d started speaking, except to order drinks, but now his focus was elsewhere in the room, obviously trailing something or someone. I followed his eye line and, as I had suspected, it was definitely someone.
Someone tall, slim, and stunningly beautiful, and also about his age. As she too searched the room, I took in more of her appearance. The unique Eurasian features—huge dark eyes, porcelain skin, and full rosebud lips, her tall, willowy frame—she was like a china doll crossed with Bambi, in the very best possible way. Stunning didn’t even cover it.
“Do you need to go?”
“Huh?” It was as though he’d forgotten that he’d literally been mid-sentence when the girl had caught his eye.
“I figured she was a…friend and you needed to go now.”
“Marnie? Sure, she’s a friend. She’s also my brother’s girl. I’ll just go say hi, and let her know where he is.”
“Okay, cool. Bye, then. It was nice chatting to you.”
“What? No. I’ll be like, two minutes. I just need to tell her he’s out back, then I’ll be right back.”
“It’s okay. Like I said before, I need to be getting home anyway, so now’s a good time.” It was. It had been an eye-opening and unexpectedly fun chat, but I was happy to call it a night, ticking another item off the Fuck It List.
“No. Don’t move. Honestly, I’ll be right back. Anyway, I’ve ordered more drinks, so you can’t leave yet.”
He had? When had that happened? Apart from when the girl had walked in, he’d hardly drawn breath while he’d spoken animatedly about movies. There was no way he had ordered drinks. I said nothing, figuring that once he was up and chatting to the girl, he’d forget all about me, and I could slip away into the night without him noticing.
“I mean it. I’m gonna keep my eyes on you, so don’t even think about sneaking off as soon as I step away.”
Had I said the words aloud without realizing?
I shrugged, watching him as he made his way across the room to the girl. I saw the moment she noticed him moving across the crowd—her previously serious expression gave way to a broad grin that lit up her whole face, and she flung her arms around him as he got close, clearly extremely pleased to see him. I couldn’t see his face as he had his back to me, but I was sure the grin was reciprocated, though I noted that he was a little stiff and halting in returning her hug. Interesting.
I felt a little weird and stalkerish as I watched them disappear across the room, but I did it anyway. When I lost sight of them, I decided to follow through with my plan to bail while was out of sight. I hadn’t actually promised him I’d stay, and I definitely didn’t owe him anything. He was a total stranger, and a young stranger, at that.
I slid out of the booth, picking up my jacket and slipping it on, busying myself gathering my things— my purse, my phone, the iPad I’d been making notes on while I watched the movie, and my scarf—and began fishing for my keys in my purse. As my hand found them in the large cavity, the thought dawned on me that given how much I’d had to drink, I couldn’t drive home now. Clearly I hadn’t thought through that part of my hastily developed plan. I’d have to leave the car and come back for it the next day. Shit.
I perched back on the edge of the seat, jacket done up, scarf wound tightly around my neck, phone in hand to book an Uber. I was just about to confirm the booking when the waitress from earlier returned to the table with two more drinks. Damn. I looked at them, hesitating about what to do next. It seemed rude to disappear when there were drinks on the table. He had said he’d ordered more, but I’d assumed he was just saying that. He must have done it when he’d crossed the room with his friend.
I stared at the drinks for a few more moments before making up my mind. Turning back to my cell, I confirmed the booking. Drinks or no drinks, I was out of there. I didn’t owe him anything. I slid off the seat again, and into a broad, toned chest. Damn.
“Going somewhere? I thought I asked you to wait?”
“You did, but I don’t remember agreeing to do so. I booked an Uber.”
