by Emma Jackson
Conversation evaporated between us as we sat side by side in the muggy bar. A solitary fan, which the bartender spent most of his time blocking with his barrel chest, occasionally moved the air near me as I sipped at my stout. I hated tense silences, especially when I couldn’t figure out why it was so tense. Was it all because of the phone calls and the poster? Was it because he felt on edge in this dodgy bar? Or was it because he was doing what I asked by not flirting and without that repertoire he was basically uninterested in talking to women?
My cell rang and I almost cheered with delight. It was Tim. Which was odd as he never really called me. We tended to communicate through funny memes and videos on WhatsApp and saved actual conversations for family gatherings.
‘Everything okay?’ I answered.
‘Yeah, great,’ Tim all but yelled over the noise in the background. I tried to turn the volume down a little so no one else could hear him.
‘You at a bar?’
‘Yeah. Work drinks. Listen. This new guy started at my firm and he said he’s up for meeting you.’
‘Huh?’
‘The blind date, like we talked about.’
‘Tim. No. I did not say I wanted you to set me up on a blind date,’ I whispered furiously down the phone at him.
‘Why not? Honestly, he seems solid. And he’s got all his teeth.’
‘I don’t care. I can get my own dates.’ I could feel Stephen watching me and it was torture. I needed to get Tim off the phone immediately.
‘Lemme just ask him your questions. If he gets them right will you go out with him?’
‘Are you coming to Daisy’s softball thing on Sunday?’ I asked him.
‘No, I gotta go with Delia to visit her family.’
‘Right, I’ll see you back home next weekend for the barbecue then.’
‘But—’
I hung up on him. I wasn’t proud of it, but it sounded like he was drunk anyhow. I reached for my own drink and risked a glance at Stephen. He was still watching me, with a little smirk on his face.
‘Do you have a checklist for people you’re considering dating?’ he asked. ‘How does the interviewing process work? Do you answer the questions for them based on your first impressions or do your prospective dates get an opportunity to answer for themselves?’
I took a couple of sips of my half-pint and licked the froth from my lips, trying to summon up the same blasé attitude I used to deflect teasing from my siblings.
‘Everybody has a checklist. They may not admit it, but we all have criteria when we’re deciding who it’s worth spending our time with.’
‘I can’t recall ever using a checklist to make that kind of judgement about a woman.’
‘Of course you haven’t. Why bother waste the time when you could be jumping straight into bed with whoever is willing?’ I crossed my legs. ‘I meant everyone who’s looking for a meaningful relationship rather than a one-night stand assesses the other person’s viability.’
‘I don’t only have one-night stands you know.’
‘Do you have meaningful relationships though? That mean something to you as well; not just to the poor woman.’
He swilled his bourbon around in the glass, his brow knitted as he watched the liquid moving. ‘You’re sounding awfully sexist, Noelle. Why do you assume the women I date aren’t capable of wanting the same arrangement as me? Most of the women I see have busy careers of their own and aren’t interesting in settling down either. I never lead women on. They always know what they can expect from me.’
It was the first time he’d as good as admitted that he never engaged in anything more than casual flings and, even though I’d been aware of it, the bare-faced facts made me disappointed in a way I didn’t care to examine. And annoyed. He’d made a good point about thinking of it only from my perspective. Not that I wanted to date him. But I had assumed the women who did were looking for the same long-term deal as me, and that wasn’t necessarily the case.
‘Okay, I admit, women are more than capable of wanting nothing other than a physical relationship and I shouldn’t have assumed you were leaving a trail of broken hearts behind you.’ Although Beth had mentioned at least one devastated woman. ‘But you’ve only backed up my argument about the checklist. Even the commitment-phobic such as yourself have criteria. 1) Woman must not expect or desire any long-term prospects. 2) No meeting family. 3) No obligations. 4) Toothbrushes will be taken home again after use. Am I right?’
He lifted his glass to me with a half-smile. ‘You’ve got me pegged, haven’t you? Go on then, what are your questions?’
‘None of your business. You shouldn’t eavesdrop.’
‘I could hardly help it but fair enough.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘How long are we prepared to wait for this lead to arrive?’
I exhaled slowly and decided to take action. Anything rather than sit and think about the humiliation of my brother inadvertently announcing I was desperate to Stephen. I flagged the bartender down. ‘Do you have a guy called Eric come in here regularly?’
‘Who wants to know?’
I bit back my smart retort that it was obviously me who wanted to know, since I was asking. This guy was about six feet five and wider than most doorways. ‘He asked us to meet him here.’
‘Then I guess he’ll meet you here.’ He ambled off with a disinterested shrug but after he collected a drink, he went straight over to the table in the corner, crowded with men who looked like him. Enormous, bearded and hostile.
‘I think he’s over there,’ I murmured to Stephen.
‘Why?’ He started to look over and I caught his arm.
‘No, don’t look.’
‘Why not? What’s going on in that head of yours?’
‘They look like bikers; this is most likely their bar because the bartender only grows a personality when he goes over to give them table service. He’s over there now, like he needs to collect their glasses but he’s most likely telling Eric about us asking after him. Giving him a heads up that we’re getting impatient or something.’
He raised an eyebrow at me. ‘Your imagination is very vivid. Do you spend all your time trying to figure people out?’
‘These are my skills. Some people are good at tennis or crochet, I’m good at—’
‘Jumping to conclusions?’
‘Hey, I thought you wanted my help with this.’
‘I do. But if he’s over there, what say we use your method from last weekend and simply ask? I don’t feel inclined to stay in this bar any longer than I have to.’
I tried not to feel insulted about the fact he couldn’t wait to get away. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
He got up from his bar stool and I was forced to let my grip on his arm drop. ‘You’d prefer to sit here and wait while he decides what to do with us?’
‘This is their domain.’
‘All the more reason to go on the offensive. It’ll show them we’re not intimidated,’ he said, stepping closer to lower his voice, his breath sweet with bourbon. ‘If you’re nervous, you can wait for me outside.’ And for just a moment I imagined I could see the softness in his dark eyes, concern that made me feel a little safer.
I shook my head. ‘I’m not abandoning you to them.’
‘I can handle myself you know.’
‘This is New York, Stephen, and it looks like we’ve been lured to a biker bar. They’ll eat you alive. They’ve probably figured out you’re loaded by the cut of your fine Italian suit.’
‘It’s a Paul Smith,’ he pointed out mildly. ‘I’m going over.’
‘Dammit. Okay.’
We approached the dingy corner and the four men watched us the entire time. I couldn’t help but feel like a dopey zebra stumbling into a pride of lions.
Stephen stopped a couple of arm lengths away from the tables. ‘Excuse us for interrupting, would any of you gents happen to be Eric?’
The four of them stared at us. They were crowded around something dark on th
e table but I saw little blocks of white scattered around too, like large pills or teeth. One of the younger ones, with more brown in his beard than grey, tipped his chin up. ‘Not us. Never heard of him.’
Stephen threw a pointed look at me and then thanked them. I thought he was being a little hasty to relax about them and the comment growled at us as we walked away only made me more concerned: ‘You watch yourselves; do you hear?’
Stephen looked back at them and gave a little respectful nod, even though I could feel that he’d tensed up beside me. ‘Perhaps we should cut our losses on this one,’ he murmured as we neared our seats at the bar again, pausing before we sat down.
I was about to answer when I noticed that Stephen wasn’t paying attention to me anymore; he was looking over my head. As I turned to see what had caught his eye, he touched his hand lightly to my waist, making me jerk in surprise, as he subtly pulled me closer.
The young college guys who’d been playing pool were now lined up in a loose semi-circle around us and they’d brought their cues.
‘You the British guy I spoke to on the phone?’ A kid with sandy hair and a red T-shirt stood in the centre and acted as their spokesperson. I say kid; they were full-grown adults and made a significant human barrier between us and the exit.
‘If your name is Eric, I suppose so. You said you had some information about the man we’re looking for?’ Stephen kept his voice neutral.
‘What’s the information worth to you?’
‘How much do you think it’s worth?’ Stephen immediately countered.
The ringleader slid the cue from his shoulder and sized Stephen up. ‘A thousand.’
‘Ha. No chance,’ I couldn’t help but interject. They were after some kind of reward money. But how would these boys know a fifty- to sixty-year-old man? A teacher perhaps, or one of their dads? This had been a wild goose chase and I knew Stephen wasn’t going to be impressed.
His fingers tightened on my waist, like he was cautioning me to keep my mouth buttoned, but sadly, that wasn’t my style.
‘What if we take a thousand and give you no information?’
They group around us shifted, like this suggestion signalled they needed to get themselves ready for what was to come. Suddenly my knees felt a little loose and I was glad Stephen was still holding on to me.
‘How do you propose to do that? I don’t carry that kind of cash on me.’ Stephen gave them a rueful smile as though this was a business deal that wasn’t working out.
‘Well, we could break all your teeth to convince you to tell us your PIN code,’ Eric sneered as he leaned forward. ‘Then we’ll help ourselves to your bank card. And that fancy cell phone you got.’
‘Hmm…’ He pretended to think about it. ‘Difficult to speak with broken teeth. Not sure that’d work for either of us.’
Eric went quiet, blinking rapidly like Stephen’s polite refusals were confusing him. He recovered soon enough. ‘You have a point. What about you go fetch us the money while your girlfriend keeps us company? She’s cute. Sure you’d be in a hurry to get back to her.’
One of the henchmen moved in closer, hand outstretched as though to touch me. I don’t know where, because Stephen pulled me against him. The hairs on my scalp were standing up.
‘No. I’m not a fan of that deal either.’
‘Looks like you’re running out of options.’ Eric, or I should say, the little dickwad, lifted his pool cue and pointed it right at Stephen’s throat. My heart thudded against my rib cage. Oh crap. This was bad. This was so bad.
‘There’s always room to negotiate.’ Stephen’s voice was all ice.
‘Is she back on the table?’ The pool cue lowered from Stephen’s neck, and then wavered over towards me, moving close enough to hook the bottom hem of my shirt. Stephen grabbed the end of it to stop it from moving any further. But he didn’t push back on it or try to yank it free, which was a smart move I thought. I sucked in my stomach and took a step back too.
We heard chairs scraping behind us from over in the corner. Now the bikers were making their way over too. This setup was probably a training exercise for their young apprentices. I was eyeing up my drink to see if I could throw it in one of their faces and we could make a run for it, but we were so outnumbered, it was ridiculous.
‘Get out of here,’ a deep voice rumbled across the bar.
Everyone went quiet. The college boys looked at the bikers and us. We looked at the college kids and the bikers. The bikers glared at the college kids.
The tension in my chest released a little. They were on our side. Thank the Lord.
‘You heard him,’ said the bartender, hands splayed wide across the counter. ‘You little pissants need to leave and don’t think of showing your faces here again.’
‘Fine. This place is a dump, anyway.’ Eric threw down his cue and his friends followed suit, shuffling out, kicking chairs and trying to look big.
‘Stay and have another drink. They might be waiting for you outside. On the house,’ the bartender said.
Stephen thanked the gang of bikers who’d come to our rescue and looked down at me. ‘Are you okay?’
I nodded, shakiness coming over me.
‘Good.’ His arm slid away from my waist and I realised I was still clinging to him, my chest pressed up against his side in a way that flooded me with warmth now the danger had passed. I pulled myself away.
We stayed for two more drinks in the end. The bikers hadn’t been counting teeth, they’d been playing scrabble and we joined them. I helped Leon, the one with the scar that cut right across the left side of his face, win with ‘quixotry’.
It was dark when we left and Stephen took my arm as we walked out of the neighbourhood, neither of us feeling relaxed until we neared my apartment.
‘Life’s certainly an adventure when I’m around you, Noelle,’ he commented. ‘Guess you were wrong about those bikers being the ones to worry about.’
‘Is this really the time for an I-told-you-so?’
‘No. It isn’t. I’m sorry.’ He shook his head and put his hands on his hips to breathe for a minute, like he hadn’t relaxed until this moment when we were at my doorstep. The sodium light from the restaurant sign lit up a circle we were standing just outside the circumference of. ‘We’re only going to give the posters one more week and I’m not meeting anyone else. Either they give us the information over the phone or not. Agreed?’
‘Fine.’ I didn’t suppose I was in a position to argue with him. It wasn’t like I was naive. My dad had told us enough stories and was always in vigilance mode, wherever we were. That kind of thing rubbed off on you, but I hadn’t considered anything past the idea of the poster. Sometimes ideas that worked in books and stories didn’t turn out quite that way in real life.
But now Stephen was going to doubt my ability to help him. I wasn’t going to let him walk away from me thinking I was an idiot and this had all been a waste of his precious time.
Even if it took me all night, I was going to come up with a list of Italian restaurants to visit tomorrow and we were going to get another lead.
When Nick sent me a stream of photographs from his hotel room in Melbourne on Saturday morning, and asked how things were going in NYC, I was tempted to reply that his girlfriend’s buddy was likely going to get me killed. But the truth was I didn’t blame Noelle for the unpleasantness yesterday. I was just relieved we’d both got out in one piece.
Thinking about how those arse-wipes had tried to touch her had my adrenalin racing again, so I went straight out for an early-morning run to burn it off. I’d nearly lost my cool and done something stupid. You didn’t go around threatening women. Obviously decent human beings didn’t threaten to hurt anyone for money but the thought of them laying hands on her… I could still feel her small body tucked under my arm, trembling, like it was imprinted to my ribs…
I pounded the streets at a ridiculous speed for the heat, pushing myself too quickly and nearly pulling a muscle for my idiocy. By
the time I’d walked back to my apartment, Noelle was calling me. She had a list of five restaurants she wanted us to visit that day. I’d have been grateful for a day off the search after the fiasco in the bar but she wasn’t available on Sunday and the fact she was voluntarily out of bed before 9am had not escaped my notice. Her firm but noticeably less confrontational tone also registered. Perhaps she felt guilty about it going so wrong yesterday.
Yesterday’s dead end had only seemed to make her more stubborn though and I couldn’t help feeling that I’d started something with her that I didn’t have complete control over anymore. Like I’d programmed a diminutive red-headed terminator and couldn’t cancel the action now.
So, now I was back in Little Italy, at a restaurant called Bennito’s. It was double-fronted, painted rusty red around its large windows and we had a table under the dark green canopy out the front. The smells from inside the restaurant made my stomach turn over. All I’d done was shower before heading over to her apartment to pick her up.
When the waitress came over to take our drinks orders and I just asked for water, she kicked me under the table. Possibly she didn’t feel as bad about yesterday as I’d thought. It was surprising how much a sandal could hurt. ‘What?’
‘Are you sure you don’t want something more…y’know? Exciting?’ She lifted one pale freckled shoulder; the thin strap of her top sliding closer to her neck from the movement. ‘How about a glass of wine?’
I blinked. ‘It’s a little early.’ Barely 11am.
‘But it’s excellent for lubrication.’ She raised her eyebrows at me, and I clicked. She wanted me to spend a decent amount so that the staff felt more happily disposed towards us. I wish she’d told me before that was her tactic. It made sense – it was similar to what we did with clients. And it would have saved me the bruise on my shin.
We both ordered a glass of the most expensive wine on the menu and the waitress left us.
