The beer was warm that night and
she was gone in a flash of brilliantly red hair that set his heart on
fire. Home was too empty, so
instead he threw a jacket over his arm and went searching for loneliness down at
Hooligans. The walk didn’t take nearly long enough,
and he wasn’t drunk enough not to notice Andy and Jade watching him from the
booth by the pool table; Jade, surreptitiously fingering her phone under the
table. Small town news, he
supposed, traveled faster than even modern technology allowed.
“Heya, Ty. Beer and fries?”
“Just the beer, thanks Jack.” His normal seat was surrounded by a
second cousin with overly bleached hair and a grade school friend turned ex. Catching the beer as it slid across the
bar, he turned and moved to the other end of the bar where the only company was
a stranger. It wasn’t that unusual
to have unknowns stop by the bar, it was a popular midway stop for truckers and
the yearly migration of loggers, but it was usual for them to be female wearing
grey business skirts and heels.
Ignoring her company he settled into his beer and his anger. With every sip he drowned out the looks
he was getting from across the room; when it was too much not to notice he set
the empty back with a force that made Jack raise a brow before wordlessly
refilling it.
Turning his back on the bar and
digging quarters from his pocket he grabbed a cue from the wall and headed for
the green felt topped table.
Methodically he knocked ball after ball into the pockets, playing until
his pockets were empty of change and then silently handing Jack a five and
waiting as he counted out ten more games worth of quarters. Three games and six more beers and the
seven ball rocketed off the table and rolled past Jades handbag towards the
bar. Cursing he didn’t notice her
until she was too close to look away.
“You favor the left and center, but
every time you try to make a shot to the right your angle is off.” She was too close and dressed to nice,
but more importantly she was the only person in the bar who didn’t know better
than to leave him the hell alone.
“Your timing is off. I came here alone, I mean to leave here
the same way.”
“You’re drunk, Tyler Long, and you
live too far away to get back alone.”
“And you’re a nosy bitch- I don’t
know who you are or how you know me, but you should leave.” He looked towards the bar, hoping to
catch Jack’s attention, but the bartender-bouncer had slipped into the back
room.
“You’re wallet, Tyler. You left it at the bar after you bought
your weight in quarters.” She held
up the worn leather and he quickly shoved it into his back pocket. Looking closer he realize that she
wasn’t unattractive, blue eyes danced under dark auburn curls. “You’re drunk and you should go
home.”
“Course I’m drunk, that’s why
people come to Hooligan’s, to get wasted.
It’s nonea your business if I am.”
“Yes, but since I’m here as a
concerned citizen, I’m making it my priority to get you home.” She was making fun of him, he
thought. Teasing. A crooked smile cracked his lips.
“You tryin’ to take me home?” She sighed, annoyed.
“I’m not going to have sex with
you. I’m going to make sure you
get home and then you’re going to let me stay on your couch or your floor, if
you don’t have one. My car’s got a
bad sparkplug, I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future until I get it
replaced. Going to see the guy
downtown on…Franklin street? Tomorrow.”
“Mike’s a good guy, he’ll get you
what you need. Guess you can stay, if you need, but I hope you’re not planning
on comin’ back in those.” He cast
a dubious eye at her three-inch stilettos. She smiled, wryly.
“I’ll manage.”
The
house was chilled, autumn was turning to winter and soon it would be wood-fire
weather again. Tyler
switched on the lights, and as a courtesy to his guest, turned the heat up a
few degrees. Sticking his hand in
his pockets, he turned to find her surveying the small living room.
“Live
alone?” He shrugged.
“Since
recently, yeah.” His eyes strayed
to the throw over the armchair, quilted lilac and salmon, clearly not his own
decorating style. “Well, Miss…”
“Ms.
King, actually.”
“No
first name?”
“Not
tonight. Maybe tomorrow when
you’ve sobered up.
“You
sure you don’t want to come upstairs?
The bed is much more comfortable than this old couch….”
“Good
night, Mr. Long.” Grabbing the
throw, she threw it decisively over the couch and pointedly sat.
Upstairs Tyler threw his keys and
phone onto the bedside table, (Not “her” bedside table, he reminded himself)
and plucked a long red hair off the pillow. She couldn’t even keep her damn body to herself; in that
moment he let himself feel the ache that the beer had only begun to dull. Tomorrow, maybe he would find out the
name of the pretty young woman who was staying on his couch. Tomorrow, he would find out what she
did and where she came from.
Tomorrow…
Somewhere, there was bacon
sizzling. His head was still
swimming but there was light pouring through the open blinds. What the hell? Where was she? She always closed the blinds on days
that he went down to the bar…joked that as a future housewife she better get
used to her place in domestic society.
Where…?
Oh. Memory flooded back, it wasn’t his fiery vivacious
sweetheart downstairs, it was the mysterious woman who wore heels in the middle
of nowhere Pennsylvania. Dragging
on sweatpants he hauled himself downstairs. She was wearing the same clothing as last night, but her
shirt was un-tucked and she had a spatula in her hand.
“Morning, sleeping beauty.”
“Hmpf.” He filled a glass with water and leaned against the counter,
watching.
“I made enough for two. I don’t normally do the whole making
breakfast thing, but then I don’t normally sleep on strange men’s couches
either. I walked into town for
eggs and bacon this morning.” He
wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to, that he liked his bacon crispy,
that there were already eggs in the fridge, but instead when he opened his
mouth he couldn’t help himself.
“Who are you?” She sighed
and wiped her hands on a towel before pulling a black bag across the
counter.
“Isabelle King, Special Agent.” She pulled a black badge out of
the bag and with a practiced flip revealed an ID showing her face, before
quickly closing it and turning back to the bacon. He stood there, staring at her as she casually slid the
bacon out of the pan and cracked an egg into the grease. Finally, he wordlessly crossed to the
fridge and pulled out bread and butter and began making four slices of toast.
Breakfast was silent; he
concentrated on his plate, every now and then he felt her eyes on him and
looked up, only to see her equally absorbed in her food. Finally, she met his gaze.
“Ask me.”
“What?”
“Ask me about being a Special
Agent, ask me what I’m doing here-ask me.”
“Is your sparkplug really
shot?” He laugh was nice, he
thought, as it exploded around the kitchen.
“What?” He smiled too, it was contagious.
“It’s just…normally the first thing
people say is ‘Do you have a gun’ or ‘But you’re a woman’ or ‘Can I know a
secret….’ And you’re worried about my sparkplug? Yes, it’s really and truly a goner. Believe me I wouldn’t have ended up
here if it wasn’t.”
“So, why didn’t you tell me last
night?”
“With the way you were looking at
me? I wanted to sleep on your
couch, not keep one eye open all night fending off advances from the drunken
stranger I met in a bar.”
“What makes you think…?”
“Oh
please. A fairly attractive woman
from out of town shows up at a bar, you already can’t keep your hands to
yourself and then you learn that she’s also a government spy. You really would have left me
alone?” He snorted and she
smiled. “I’m glad I met you, Tyler
Long. You’re a decent and honest. You would make a horrible spy.”
“Don’t count me out so quickly,
lady. I can be as cold blooded as
the next guy.”
“Don’t be- it changes a
person.”
She was very pretty, he thought,
especially now that her eyes were dancing and he hair had a way of escaping its
tight restraints.
The garage was full but as promised
Mike made time for the out –of-towner.
She had tried to insist on walking down, but Tyler argued that it was
cold and he had to go into town to get milk anyway. He waited in the hard plastic chairs, watching out of the
corner of his eye as she flicked through the Outdoor Life and Motor Trend. She seemed oddly at home here, and then
he remembered the glock she had pulled out of her bag earlier when she was
looking for her keys. She really
was something else.
“Yup, she’s good to go.” Mike tossed the keys and she caught
them, smiling widely.
“Thanks, I really appreciate
it. I would have been here for
days waiting for the company to send another car.” Tyler had noticed that in public she didn’t refer to her
line of work except through vague terms, but everyone seemed to accept that she
must be a high level executive in some large corporation. Mike smiled back.
“Well, I’m sure Ty here would have
taken care of you. He’s a good
guy, you know.” Tyler cleared his
throat,
“Yup,
best be getting home I suppose, you’ll want to pack up before dark so you can
hit the road.” He ignored Mike’s
pointed stare as he walked out of the garage and climbed into the truck he had
parked across the street.
She packed quickly and neatly; in
the space of fifteen minutes the only trace that there had been another person
in the house was a half eaten package of eggs and a bottle of orange juice in
the fridge. Tyler watched her,
ignoring the pricking at the back of his throat. At least for the last forty-eight hours he hadn’t been
alone; the prospect of her leaving only made his new solitude seem
harsher.
“You can stay another night if you
need. It’s getting dark out
there.” The words were out of his
mouth before he knew that he was thinking them; she flicked the zipper of her
bag closed.
“I’m sorry, Tyler. I have to go save the world and all
that-“ she grinned but this time it didn’t meet her eyes.
“Oh, right.” They stood there staring at each other
for a minute, and then she was walking across the room and her arms were on his
shoulders and she was kissing him.
It was a good kiss, he thought later, not too soft and there was a
moment right before their lips touched where he was looking right up into her
startlingly blue eyes. When they separated, she had a sad little smile on her
face.
“You’re a good man, Tyler
Long. I hope you remember
that.” He didn’t ask her to stay
again; instead he slung her bag over his shoulder and held the front door for
her.
The car door slammed, and she gave
a funny little half wave-nod, and then the dirt crunched under her tires and
she was gone.
Inside he found a big black
trash-bag and stood in the middle of the living room. The salmon throw was the first thing into the bag, followed
by the decorative pillows and the artistically arranged sticks in their
vases. He didn’t stop until the
whole house was purged, and then he stood there panting with five bags of
womanly comforts. He thought
briefly of dousing them with kerosene in the front yard, but instead he hauled
them into the bed of his truck and covered them with a tarp bound for the goodwill
in the morning.
Tonight, the beer tasted sweeter
and the house was less empty than it had been in weeks of cohabitation.
