Clockwork Romance

by Andy Mandela

  It was already past ten o’ clock, but I’ve only had two beers. I turn around in my barstool to get up and leave, but before I do, I notice something. Someone… familiar. Over on the other side of the bar where there wasn’t much light, except for a few neon signs, were a few booths against the wall. In one booth, there was a woman sitting down facing away. She had her hair down. Her hair was dark. I froze for a few seconds. It was the same girl I’ve seen walking around my apartment building. She had that look, the look I’ve seen before. For most people, they wouldn’t be able to tell, but I knew it was her. Somehow, I just knew. Honestly, there aren’t very many things I’m sure of, but this… this was one of them. I get out of my seat and begin to walk towards the shadowy woman. She was by herself, with a clear drink, probably vodka. I walk slowly, trying to be cool. But I wasn’t. I’m too nervous for some inexplicable reason. I gotta go back. Before the night is over, or before she leaves, I will find out who she is.

  I go back to my stool, staring into space, trying to decide what to say. Periodically, I turn my head, making sure she hasn’t left yet. It feels almost as if she’s waiting for me. Weird, right? I think so. She probably thinks so too. Right in the middle of my thought, I hear a voice.

  “So…” the voice says. I turn my head, surprised by who I see. I didn’t expect to see who I was staring at. It was her. The woman. She’s even more beautiful face-to-face. She was wearing the same black hoodie that I’ve seen her wear before. I looked into her green eyes as she finished speaking. “… Do you want to tell me something or is staring at me from a distance good enough?” She didn’t seem bothered. Actually, by the way her eyes looked, she appeared flattered. I lightly smile back to her.

  “I’m sorry. But I… feel like I’ve seen you before. I guess I just wanted to know who you were. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.”

  “Not at all,” she responded, smiling back. She put her elbows on the bar, but didn’t sit down. She now spoke with the left side of her face facing me. “So, do you still want to know who I am?” I thought about that carefully. Is this a trick? Who cares? I decided to go along with it.

  “Yeah,” I answered, unsure of whether or not I would regret my decision.

  “Well…” she said, leaning in to whisper in my ear, “… too bad.” She stood straight up again, facing me, and continued, “To be honest, I don’t even know who you are, but…” She looked like she was gaining interest. “… if you want to come back to my table, maybe we can answer each other’s questions.” She nodded towards her booth, where her drink waited.

  “Let’s go,” I say. She grinned. I got up, and we walked over to her booth. Since I wouldn’t like her to be drinking alone, I ordered another beer before sitting down. I gave the bartender his payment and told him not to worry about the change.

  As I sat down, I felt some sort of uneasiness, and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because I’m not used to the woman coming up to me to start the conversation, since I’m usually the one who initiates small talk. The woman sat on the other side of the booth, so I sat where she was previously sitting before she came over to me. I drink a drink while admiring her, while she looked off to the side, almost as if she had forgotten I was there. I spoke first after swallowing my drink. “You know, I’m curious, but how’d you know that I was looking at you?” Her face then turned, then her eyes stared into mine. I must say, it was difficult maintaining eye contact with her. Her green eyes were so beautiful, I felt like if I were to stare into them for too long, she would steal my soul. Silly I know, but it’s the only way I can describe them.

  “I have eyes in the back of my head,” she joked. Truly, I don’t know if that was a joke. She didn’t correct herself. I chuckled anyway. “So tell me something about yourself,” She said.

  I’ve always thought that was such an ambiguous question, so I answered, “What do you want to know the most?”

  “Um… what do you do?” That question too is such a cliché, a bore.

  “That’s what you want to know? What I do?” I said, unable to keep myself from grinning.

  “It’s an overly asked question, I know, but still a reasonable one, especially if the person being asked seems so defensive, which only makes me more interested.” Her smile was just as beautiful as her eyes.

  “What I do…” I muttered. I had flashes of my everyday life, dealing drugs and making dirty money. “… isn’t important,” I say. “But was is important is who I am.”

  “Well, just so you know, it’s what you do that defines who you are. For instance, if you were to die, let’s say tonight, how will you be addressed in the newspaper, for example? I mean unless you’re some kind of high profile celebrity or an otherwise well-known person, your name means nothing. So…” She took out a pack of cigarettes, put one in her lips, and lit it. “… what would the headline read?” As she exhaled, she offered me a cigarette by holding the pack with its open end towards me and raising her eyebrows.

  “No thanks, I don’t smoke,” I say.

  “Okay,” she said, as if I was missing out, “I’m trying to quit myself.”

  “No you’re not,” I interrupted.

  “What?” she questioned, so I answered, “If you were really trying to quit, you wouldn’t be smoking right now. You’re contradicting yourself as we speak. You see, I used to smoke for about seven years, until one day, I just… stopped. There’s a difference between trying and doing.”

  “Then I guess that makes me a liar,” she returned. She took another drag, then exhaled. “Which brings us back to you. What are you?” I thought about it again, but didn’t want to tell the truth about what I am. Besides, I’m trying to change what I am. Shit. Maybe I should start practicing what I preach.

  “Nothing,” I finally answered.

  “Nothing?” she said, which made her giggle.

  “Yeah,” I respond

  “Nothing dies in a horrible car crash,” she joked, acting like she was reading from an invisible newspaper. “I’d hate to shatter your cynicism, but everyone is something. Whether you’re a bum living in an alley or a millionaire living in a mansion, it doesn’t matter. Look around, everyone in here is something, somebody.” My eyes shifted from people playing pool, to people sitting in other booths, to the bartender himself. She finished her thought, “It’s impossible to be nothing. You could be sitting down, standing up, or lying down. You could be breathing or holding your breath. But whatever you’re doing, it’s always something.”

  Her thought was interesting, so I said, “Makes sense I guess.”

  “Do you have to guess?”

  “I suppose not.”

  She exhaled another cloud of smoke, then said, “Let me ask you something. Let’s say you wanted to date me.”

  “Okay,” I said, like I was just being offered.

  She continued, “What’s so special about you that sets you apart from every other guy in here, or anywhere else for that matter? What is it that you have to offer?” Before she lets me answer, she continues a little more. “And don’t say that you’re a nice guy, because that doesn’t mean shit to any woman. Think about it this way. If I could look into your life, do you think I’d want to be a part of it? Would I want to share my life with yours?”

  “Uh…” I muttered, “… considering how little I know about you, I don’t know if I can answer that. But if I had to, I would say no. At least not at this moment anyway.” She looked fascinated.

  “Why’s that?” she questioned.

  “Because right now, I’m kind of going through a transitional state, and, now’s not a good time for me to be in a relationship.”

  “Well that’s too bad,” she responds, sympathizing with me.

  “What does that mean?” I asked. “You’re the type of girl who can have any man she wants.”

  “But I don’t want just any man. I want the right man, the one who I would really want to share my life with.”

  “Let me guess,” I said, “he’s got to be as gorgeo
us as you are with so much money, you could retire in Beverly Hills.”

  “No,” she said, “not at all.” She put out her cigarette in a small ashtray sitting on the side of the table nearest the wall. “Actually money and looks aren’t as important to me as the chemistry and the qualities of someone’s personality.”

  “Bullshit,” I told her. “Women say that all the time, but it’s never true. Looks, money, and social status are everything.”

  “Well of course it’s bullshit,” she agreed. “I’m simply stating that money and looks aren’t what make a relationship work. Now I’m aware that there has to be an attraction of some kind, but you’ll find that most women would rather have true love with a poor man than be fucked by some rich guy who treats her like shit. In case you haven’t noticed, I didn’t ask you how much money you made, and… I wouldn’t say you’re the hottest guy in the bar.” We both chuckled at that second part.

  I said, “But you did ask what I do.”

  “Yes,” she answered, “but that was because I was interested in you, and who you are.” A few seconds of silence passed, but they weren’t uncomfortable. She speaks again, “To be honest with you, I was a late bloomer.” I didn’t believe it. Someone as beautiful as her must have been that way her entire life. “I didn’t have a lot of friends when I was younger, and not much self-esteem. But when I… improved, people began to notice. But I never let it go to my head. I knew who really loved me and who didn’t, even if they were pretending. And of course, with people who like you, also come people who don’t. Jealousy is such a stupid thing. Believe it or not, I was called a whore, even when I was still a virgin. I mean, take a look at celebrities. Some people hate celebrities just because they didn’t really do anything of importance to become famous, or because they’re stupid, annoying, or aren’t good role models. Let me tell you, people hate them because the celebrities are famous, and the people doing all the hating aren’t. The celebrities are living their lives the way they want to. They’re not trying to live up to anybody else’s stupid expectations. Has a certain someone done anything bad personally to someone to create such an animosity?”

  “You’re absolutely right. It’s just easier to hate people when they’re easier targets.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “People look at me and they think I’m a bitch. Maybe it’s because they don’t find themselves as attractive as they find me, but it doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve never done anything to anyone. I mean, do I come off as a rude person to you?”

  I had just finished swallowing another sip when she asked me. “Not at all. In fact, I think you’re a very insightful and intelligent person.”

  “Oh yeah?” she said smiling. “Is that what you were thinking when you were sitting over there on that stool?”

  “How could I?” I answered.

  “You’re right. How could you? But I am curious what your first impression of me was.”

  “Okay, you look like the type of person I wouldn’t be able to see only one time. You’re the type I just have to know more about. See, most women I can just walk past and not think twice about, but you…”

  She interrupted, “Are you saying it’s only the looks that attract you?”

  “No,” I tell her. “Not anymore. I’m just saying that when I do find someone interesting, I like to know more about them. And I think I do… except for one thing.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “And what would that be?”

  “Your name.”

  “Ah,” she spoke, with that smile returning. “The exchanging of names. It looks like we’ve saved the usual beginning of a first time meeting for the end. Do you ever plan on seeing me again?”

  “What?” I questioned

  “I’m just saying there’s no point in telling each other’s names if we’re never going to see each other again.”

  “In that case, yes I would like to see you again.”

  “And what if we were to go outside right now and have sex in the alley? Would you still want to see me again after that?”

  “Yes,” I assured her. “But to be honest, I don’t want to have sex with you.”

  “Hmmm,” she wondered, almost insulted. “And why’s that?”

  “Because right now, I’d like to start off as just friends.” She looked impressed. I was impressed with myself. I meant every word I said.

  “Well in that case,” she responded, “my name’s Karina.”

  “Luke,” I greeted, as we nodded our heads. I was a little confused, and I said, “You know, I’ve never really known how to greet a woman. At a distance, you know, I would just wave, but up close, what am I to do? A handshake? A hug?”

  “As you’ll find out,” she responded, “I’m a big hugger, so stand up.” So we stand up, and we hug. It felt like our bodies were two puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly. She smelt wonderful, but it didn’t smell like perfume. It was that natural scent that women have that’s so much more alluring than perfume.

  After our embrace, she said, “Let’s go.” Oh no. My legs begin to walk. I didn’t want this situation to go the way it usually goes. Not this time. Not with her. Before I knew it, we were outside. I was anxiously awaiting her next words, hoping that they wouldn’t be the words I normally hear. I knew that if they were, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. Then I heard, “You headed that way?” She briefly pointed across the street at my apartment building.

  “Yeah.” I say.

  “Well, I’m parked around the corner, so… how about tomorrow night, around eight, we meet here again and continue our…” Her eye scaled me from head to toe, then back up to my eyes. “… ever so interesting conversation.”

  “You got it,” I say, with a reassuring smile.

  “See you then,” she ended, waving as she turned around and walked away.

  “Have a good night,” I finished, as I walked to my building. When I got to the front door of the building, I looked back to see Karina walking around the corner. Then she was gone. Now all I saw was the night. I opened the front door and went inside, waiting for tomorrow night when I would have the chance to see Karina once again. And of course, I won’t be having any trouble sleeping tonight.

  Chapter 5

  It’s the next morning. I open my eyes. I’m awaken by the sound of someone knocking at my door. For a second, I’m wondering if last night really happened. The last thing I remember was Karina walking off as I continued back here. It felt real. Either way, I’ll be at the bar tonight, eight o’ clock sharp. In the meantime, I guess I’ll see who’s at the door.

  I get out of bed, in my pajama bottoms, or my otherwise lounge pants, and answer the door, still feeling half asleep. It’s Brandon again.

  “Hey Luke,” he says.

  “Come on in,” I tell him, as I open the door wider. Once he’s in, I close the door.

  “I just stopped by for a gram of blow,” he says making it sound like he’s asking for sugar. He takes a seat as I walk to the chest. “Hey, how come you didn’t stop by the party the other night?”

  “Oh man,” I said, trying not to sound too sarcastic. “I just found myself with some last minute plans, so I couldn’t make it. Sorry.”

  “Ah, it’s fine,” Brandon returned, “I don’t really recall too much anyway, besides, of course the fact that you weren’t there. But it’s all good.”

  “Actually,” I said, putting more cocaine on the scale, “I met someone last night.” Brandon laughs. He probably feels like I say that a lot.

  “Was it Hannah? The girl I gave your number to?” he said. At that moment, I remembered Hannah. Oh, Hannah. I forgot all about her.

  “No, it wasn’t her. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t give my number to complete strangers,” I said, turning my head. “I suppose this time I can forgive you because I did talk to her, and she was really nice. How do you know her anyway? You don’t seem like you would know each other.”