by Cross, Amy
“Nothing,” the stranger replied with a faint smile, “I just... You look like you're having quite a night there. Party of one, so to speak.”
“Just grabbing a quiet beer,” Joe told him. “Didn't mean to start a conversation about it.”
“Course not, course not.” The stranger paused. “Nice night out, huh? Pretty cold around -”
“I'm not really much for talking,” Joe replied, interrupting him. “Sorry. I just came to...” His voice trailed off as Mel set his beer down. He muttered something else under his breath, too low for anyone else to hear, as he slid some coins toward her.
“Fresh glass,” Mel told him.
“I was fine with the old one.”
“Go home after this, yeah?” she continued, with evident concern in her voice. “It's almost midnight. Don't you have to be up early for work?”
“Don't worry about that,” he replied, barely keeping his eyes open as he took a long, deep swig of beer, some of which spilled out the side and trickled through his rough stubble. “I'll be there bang on time.”
“I was just commenting,” the stranger told Mel, “that it's a cold night out.”
She smiled politely, before heading over to the cash register.
“You new here?” the stranger asked, keeping his eyes fixed on her.
“Not really,” she replied, clearly not too keen on a long conversation.
“But you weren't born in Bowley, were you?”
“I moved here a couple of years ago.”
“You moved here?” He smiled as he took a sip of beer. “Wow, I didn't think people moved to Bowley anymore. I thought the flow of traffic was strictly one-way, straight outta here. That's the smart move, you know. Go to some town that's got a pulse.” He waited for a reply, but after a moment he realized she was more interested in counting change from the register. Turning, he watched as Joe took another long swig of beer, bringing his fresh glass down to the half-empty line already. “You're moving that stuff pretty fast,” he commented after a few seconds. “Heavy night?”
Slowly, Joe turned to him.
“Sorry,” the stranger added, holding up a hand. “No offense.”
“I just came to do some thinking,” Joe replied. “No offense to you, Sir, but...”
“Totally,” the stranger said, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude on your quiet time. I know how annoying it can be when you just want to hide away by yourself and then someone comes and interrupts you.” He paused. “I've always thought, actually, that it's a measure of a good man if he can be happy in his own company without -”
“Jesus,” Joe muttered, getting up from his stool and taking a few stumbling steps around the side of the bar, heading toward the bathroom. As he passed the stranger, he patted the guy on the back. “You talk a lot, fella,” he added. “A hell of a lot. Too much, some might say. You smile a lot, too There's no point smiling unless you've got a reason for it, otherwise you come out looking a bit weird.”
“Well...” The stranger turned and watched as Joe shuffled over to the door marked 'Gentlemen' and disappeared inside. “Yeah, I guess that's a good point.” Sighing, he looked down at his glass. “Yeah. I definitely talk too much.”
“Can I give you some advice?” Mel asked, glancing at him. “I guess if you're new in town, you don't know, but... Just let Joe be, okay? Leave him alone.”
“I am letting him be,” the stranger replied. “Just thought I'd make a little conversation, that's all.” He glanced over his shoulder, taking a look around the empty bar. There were a couple of booths over on the far side, with neon signs above them, and someone sometime had thought to hang some flashing, multi-colored fairy-lights from the ceiling. “I've gotta admit,” he added with a sigh, “I figured this place'd be a little more rockin', you know? I've never seen a place so lit up, but with so few people inside.”
“It's December 11th,” she told him. “Bowley tends to be a little quiet on December 11th.”
“Is that right?” He paused. “Any reason?”
She finished counting the money and then closed the register, clearly feeling a little uncomfortable. “It's an anniversary,” she said after a moment. “One people round here don't really like to think about.”
He raised a quizzical eyebrow.
Glancing at the bathroom door, Mel seemed keen to make sure that Joe didn't come back too soon and overhear the conversation.
“I don't wanna step on any toes,” the stranger continued. “If there's something I oughta keep away from, though, I'd sure like to know what it is so I can do a better job than I've been doing so far. 'Cause right now I feel like I just stepped right in the middle of the salad.”
She paused. “It doesn't matter. Just -”
Before she could finish, her phone rang and she grabbed it so fast, it was clear she was grateful for the interruption.
“Mel at the Monument,” she said, flashing a smile at the stranger before turning away. “Hey, how are you doing?”
The stranger watched the back of her head as she took a couple of steps away.
“Yeah, I spoke to him,” she continued. “No, sorry, he said there's nothing going at the moment.” She paused. “I don't have a clue, to be honest. I don't think there are many jobs going anywhere. Maybe you could try -” Another pause, and this time she sounded a little more stressed when she spoke again. “No, I told you, I asked him and there's nothing. Katie, I think -” She sighed. “Katie, I didn't promise anything, except that I'd ask. I asked and he said no. I wish I could do more for you, but -”
She looked down at her phone.
“Well screw you too,” she muttered.
“Something wrong?” the stranger asked.
“Just someone looking for a job,” she replied, turning to him as she set her phone next to the register. “It's not the best time to be out of work.”
“Not many options in a town like this, huh?”
“That's an understatement,” she replied. “Sorry, I shouldn't have... I mean, I'm just a little on edge, 'cause -”
“December 11th?” the stranger suggested.
“Exactly.”
“So what happened here on December 11th?” he asked, picking up a cardboard bar-mat and starting to tear little pieces away. “If you don't mind me asking, that is.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“So why's everyone still jumpy about it?”
She paused. “Someone died. That's all.”
“Oh.” His eyes widened as he began to make a little pile from the torn pieces of cardboard. “Someone died, huh? Doesn't get much worse than that.”
“Yeah,” Mel said, glancing at the bathroom door as if she was worried about Joe overhearing them. “People don't exactly feel like doing much on the anniversary. That's all.”
“Except yer man right here,” the stranger replied, glancing at Joe's glass.
“It's different for him.”
“It is?”
“He...” Another pause.
After setting the last piece of torn cardboard on the pile, the stranger waited for her to continue.
“Joe was with Caitlin when she was killed,” Mel said finally. “He barely got away with his life, and... Well, that's that. There's no point over-complicating the story.”
“Wow,” the stranger muttered, raising both eyebrows at once, “that's gotta get to a guy deep down where it hurts. Nine years ago, so he'd have been, what... I mean, he doesn't look like an old chap.”
“Fifteen,” she replied, glancing at the bathroom door again. “He was fifteen. She was seventeen.”
“God, and I guess he saw the whole thing, huh? No wonder the guy wants to drink the memories away.”
“It's not just tonight with him,” Mel explained. “Tonight's just a different context. He's in here every night, downing pint after pint and -” She stopped suddenly, as if she'd suddenly realized she was saying too much. “At least he's not drinking alone, right?”
“Drinking alone, thinking
alone,” the stranger muttered. “Both can be dangerous.”
“I should shut up.”
“It's okay,” the stranger said with a smile, “I have that effect on people.”
“What effect?”
“Makin' 'em talk,” he continued, holding his hands up as if to express his innocence, “It's like, when someone gets yammering away to me, they just keep on going like the brakes on their mouth have failed. I must just have that kind of face.”
“Huh.” She smiled politely, as a bumping sound could be heard from the bathroom. “Just leave Joe be, yeah? He's gonna be okay. Let him sit silently and have his thoughts.”
As the stranger mimed zipping his lips shut, the bathroom door opened and Joe came stumbling out, holding onto the bar for a moment to steady himself. Clearly unsteady on his feet and barely able to focus, he made his way back to his stool and slumped down, before taking another big swig from his beer. For his part, the stranger glanced over at him but kept his mouth shut, before looking back down at his own drink.
“Gotta change the barrel,” Mel muttered a few minutes later, wiping her hands on a towel. “You guys behave while I'm gone.”
“You want a hand with that?” the stranger asked. “I've changed plenty of barrels in my time.”
“I'll be fine, thanks.”
“Honest, I -”
“Really, I'm fine. Thank you for your kind offer.”
Once Mel was down in the cellar, the stranger took another sip of beer before turning to look over at Joe again, and this time his gaze lingered until the other man became aware and turned to him.
“I heard it's a tough day for you,” the stranger said. “Nine years since you saw some girl get murdered. What was her name again? Caitlin?”
Joe opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. After a moment, he simply looked back down at his glass.
“Man, that must be tough,” the stranger continued. “Was she your girlfriend, or just a normal friend? Were you getting a little action?”
Joe muttered something under his breath.
“What was that?” the stranger asked.
“Nothing.”
“The death of a loved one is no easy matter,” the stranger continued, “that's for damn sure. It gets us here, in the chest, and leaves a permanent shadow.” As if to prove his point, he patted himself just below his collarbone. “I know people pile on with their platitudes,” he added, “but let me tell you, friend, it never goes away. The pain, the loss, the grief... It's like anything, you notice it less after it's been around for a while, but every so often you suddenly remember and...” Another pause. “And then it gets you again. Kicks you right in the gut, makes you -”
Suddenly Joe rose from his stool again, taking one last swig from his glass before turning and stumbling toward the exit.
“You off somewhere, fella?” the stranger asked. “Got somewhere to be?”
Without replying, Joe pushed the door open and paused for a moment, before making his way out into the cold night air.
“Huh,” the stranger muttered, looking back down at his glass and then holding it up to examine a crack on the side. “Well, I swear that wasn't there a minute ago.”
A moment later, Mel came up from the cellar, a little out of breath.
“Bathroom again?” she asked as soon as she saw the empty stool where Joe had been a few seconds ago.
“He left,” the stranger replied with a shrug. “Just got up and tottered out.”
“Why?”
“Beats me.” He took another swig of beer. “The guy just upped and left. I hope I didn't say anything that upset him, but... I don't think I did. I guess he's just got a lot on his mind tonight, huh?”
***
“Screw you,” Katie hissed, before cutting the call and shoving her phone into her pocket. Sighing, she took a moment to compose herself, before making her way across the parking lot and peering at the intercom next to the door.
She took a deep breath.
“You can do this,” she whispered to herself, before looking up at the side of the office building. There was a camera above, which she assumed was watching her every move.
Another deep breath.
Finally, she hit a button on the intercom.
“Hello?” she said, trying to sound confident and self-assured.
She waited, and a moment later she had to step back as a barrage of distorted, static-filled noise hissed out of the intercom's speaker. A few seconds later, the noise stopped.
“Um...” She leaned closer and hit the button again. “Hi. I don't know if you can hear me, but my name is Katie Hopkins. I'm here for the interview.” She paused. “Um... About the modeling gig? We spoke by email.”
Letting go of the button, she waited again.
Suddenly there was another blast of noise, so loud this time that she almost put her fingers in her ears. Taking another step back, she glanced over her shoulder, looking across the dark street, and considered just turning and going home. Sure, she needed the money, but if -
Hearing a buzzing sound, she looked toward the door. She reached out and pulled the handle, and sure enough the whole thing swung open, and a moment later the buzzing sound stopped.
“You want me to come inside?” she asked, looking at the intercom. She waited for a reply, before glancing up at the camera again. She'd spent all day hoping that Mel would come through and get her a job at the bar, so that she wouldn't have to resort to this, but now she had no other choice. Fighting the urge to turn and run, she slipped into the cold, over-lit lobby and let the door swung shut behind her.
She waited.
Silence.
“Hello?” she called out.
No reply.
Stepping forward, she reached the bottom of a small set of steps and made her way up to a small waiting room with two elevators on one side and a couple of old leather sofas on the other. She wandered over to a small table between the sofas and picked up a magazine from the pile. Flicking through the pages for a moment, she realized it was a film magazine from a decade earlier. Looking around, she tried to calm the growing sense of unease in the pit of her stomach, but she was starting to think that maybe Stacy had been right when, earlier in the evening, she'd suggested that the whole “interview” was actually some kind of set-up.
A moment later, she heard a door opening and then closing in the distance, and then footsteps approaching along a nearby corridor. She dropped the magazine and turned, just in time to see a middle-aged man step into view with a clipboard in his hands.
“Are you Kelly?” he asked.
“Katie.”
“Sorry, Katie.” He looked down at the clipboard for a moment, before glancing back at her. “Yeah, Katie. You're here about the modeling job?”
She nodded.
“Cool. My office is this way.”
Turning, he began to head back the way he'd come.
“Well...” Pausing, Katie finally realized she had to make a decision. She glanced at the door, before starting to hurry after the guy, figuring that she could always turn back at a later point. He was walking fast and didn't seem to have glanced back to check she was following, so she simply kept pace with him until he reached an open door and stepped into a small, nondescript office that contained only a desk, a camera on a tripod, and a battered-looking wooden chair, along with a plastic palm tree in a pot in the corner. It looked like the kind of office someone had set up at short notice.
“Take a seat, uh... Katie,” the guy said, pointing at the chair as he made his way behind his desk and set his clipboard down. “And shut the door, yeah?”
Doing as she was told, she set her bag next to the chair before sitting.
“Did you have any trouble finding the place?” the guy asked, sitting behind his desk and not even looking at her as he rifled through some papers.
She shook her head.
Finally, he glanced at her.
“I mean... No,” she said, trying to smile even th
ough nerves were eating at her belly. “No trouble.”
“Sorry about the buzzer on the door,” he continued, sounding a little bored as he looked back down at the papers. “Damn thing's needed fixing for months.”
She forced another smile, but she was already feeling extremely uncomfortable. Sitting with her knees together and her hands in her lap, she watched as the guy jotted something down on a piece of paper, and she couldn't shake the feeling that he was busy with something else and could barely even find the time to see her.
“You got some ID there?” he asked finally.
“Oh, yeah...” Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her driving license and placed it on the desk for him.
“Yep.” He glanced at the license for a moment, before looking down at his papers. “So you're twenty-two, huh?”
“Um, yes.”
“That's cool. And, uh, how long have you wanted to get into this line of work, Katie?”
“Just... I heard about it, and the money sounded good.”
“That's what I like,” he replied. “Honesty.”
“Everyone needs money,” she admitted.
“And you know it's modeling?”
“Yeah.”
“And you know...” He paused, before looking at her again. “You understand what that usually means in this context, don't you? There's the type of modeling you get into by going to meet someone at a big fashion house, and there's the kind of modeling you get into by answering an online ad and meeting a guy late at night in an office like this.”
She paused. “I... Yeah. I guess.”
“Huh.” He stared at her for a moment. “You're not flaky, are you?”
“Flaky?”
“Indecisive. Unreliable.”
“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “Definitely not.”
“That's good. 'Cause the one thing I hate is people who are flaky. If you're gonna do something, do it. If not, don't. Just make a goddamn decision, that's all I ask. I hate having my time wasted.” He continued to stare at her. “Can you stand up for me, Katie?”
