The Grave Robbing of Mrs. Figg (Updated 2/2)
Here’s a story I’ve been playing with in my head since September. Finally figured out how to go about getting it down in a way that doesn’t suck (too much [what good would an intro to a story be without a little self-deprication]) — so here it is. Looks like it will be a longer-short story, not really sure, but anyway, here’s the beginning. Action free and probably a bit dull. Oh well.
Update 2/2
Use “Find” and type in “UpdateOne” to get to the newest addition (if you’ve already read to the end of what was posted yesterday)
It was with some difficulty that I was able to travel abroad in my late youth, having worked for some time at a local market I saved what I could, and sometimes what I could not, spare. There was no definite goal in my mind as to what I would spend the small savings on, only that when the time arose I would be able to – in theory – purchase my desires. My desires were stoked in my second year at community college, I was taking a European history class and fell in love with the idea of England. This was not the first time I had fallen for a subject, but as a shy boy who had only known two partners I felt my affection easier spent upon my cat and books – the latter I began to devour at prodigious excess. The histories of the great kings and queens of England consumed I began seeking out fictional works set in London, Birmingham, Bristol and Liverpool, if the author spelled color with a u I ate it up – and I must admit – I became more obsessed daily until all I thought about was England. The term half done I set it upon myself to visit this country, to view the famous castles, to eat the bar food and enjoy the dreary atmosphere. Buying a ticket was quite easy and fairly cheap, I found that I had at least half of my savings intact after arranging for travel preparations and my flight.
The days progressed toward the end of the term, all of the other students wore red eyes and shook slightly from their excessive caffeine intake. I slept easily and knew no stress, only the excitement of my trip. The last day of my classes arrived, I cheerfully went and wrote a volume upon Henry IV, bade my professor a deep and thanks-filled goodbye and returned home to double check my belongings. Arriving home I met my cat deeply entrenched in my open suitcase, shedding his calico fur upon neatly folded jeans and my toiletries. I told him quietly that I was sorry to leave him but that I would return soon enough, hopefully with wonderful stories to share with him. Meowing his agreement and stretching as long as his body would allow we shared lunch over a few Shakespearean sonnets. Afterwards I brushed my teeth and double checked that my spare key was hidden outside underneath my pitiful potted thyme bush which had become much the worse for wear as winter had progressed.
All of my preparations made and double checked I lay down to sleep, my flight left just past midnight and was scheduled to arrive at about 7:00 pm in London. Nerves got the best of me and when my alarm went off at 9:45 I ticked it quietly off before it disturbed Edgar who was curled up on my chest sleeping soundly. Displacing him gently onto my pillow I quietly picked up my suitcase and rolled it to the entryway. A sharp rap on the door echoed loudly in my quiet home, I answered with the customary two-bits return knock and opened the door wide with a smile to match. “Julie!” I exclaimed and she returned my welcome with a hug. Looking around the gloom she spoke quickly, “All packed and ready to go? How’s Edgar? Is he sad you’re leaving? Oh I am so jealous of you, my little island hopper.”
“Edgar is fine Julie, he doesn’t need much attention other than food and potables, and the occasional scratch on the chin.” At this she nodded three times in stern agreement; had I perhaps not known her since childhood I might have taken it mockingly, but by now I was used to her eclectic nature.
After her nods she quickly about-faced and began whistling – indicating it was time to leave. I glanced once again around my home and tapped my pockets to make sure my passport and tickets hadn’t fallen out; finding them in place I picked up my bag and followed her out the door in mock military step. I tossed my bag unceremoniously into the back seat of her little Honda and buckled myself in, she turned the ignition switch once and jabbed her cigarette lighter into her dashboard forcefully, we sat in silence a moment, the muted sounds of small-town traffic drifted through the windows. A sharp pop announced the success of her lighter, she pulled out the cherry red coils and held it to the tip of her cigarette, she offered it to me, I declined having cut back recently. She shrugged and returned the lighter and turning the ignition with another quick movement, the car roared to life and we headed toward the freeway.
A light blue fog was filling up the car and I rolled down my window, Julie looked sideways at me and apologized with her eyes, I knew she was distracted with something and didn’t want to press it. When she got lost in her head it was best to just let her work it out and even though I wanted to talk to the one friendly face I would see in the foreseeable future. The city grew bright in front of us, signs illuminated and begging for attention, lights blinking cheerfully on and off in bright neon oranges and reds, Julie spoke up quietly, “It’s always beautiful at night.”
“Welcome back, miss, how was your trip?” I asked jokingly.
“Ha. Ha,” she said sarcastically, “I was just thinking about how lucky you are, going to another country, I’ve never even been out of the state.” She tapped her lighter in pensively.
“You know it’s not that hard to do, you work enough – I’m sure you could afford it, I mean, I think you could if you wanted it enough.”
“It’s not that–” the lighter popped out and she light both cigarettes she had dangling out of her mouth, handing one to me, “–it’s just, I would want to go with someone, you know, share a once in a lifetime experience…” She trailed off and let a plume of smoke sail past me out the window.
I thought about that for a while, the thought had never occurred to me to ask anyone else if they wanted to go. Most likely it was because I had imagined the country as sharing the memory with me, a kind of weird country-person love affair that could never go anywhere and that would always be one sided.
“That’s a good point, I wish I had someone to share it with, I think that I’m in a strange love-affair involving a small island, hah!”
She didn’t seem to share my mirth, I couldn’t help but be elated and the thought of having made a mistake regarding my trip was not something I was keen to admit a few hours before my flight left. We were slowly leaving the city, sailing along the near empty freeway, above us I could see the trailing lights of airplanes departing or arriving from our local airport.
“Will you write me?” She asked, somewhat softly. Not being used to the softer side of her I felt a bit taken aback, she seemed to be in a depressed mood tonight but I knew better than to ask why, she would tell me when she wanted to.
“Of course I’ll write you! How about a letter or postcard from every city I visit.” I was smiling now and I could see the hint of one on her own face, “Is there anything special you want me to bring you back or shall I wait until something catches my eye?”
“You don’t have to write that often, you know, just a little postcard would be enough. I’m sure you’ll be more than busy and won’t have time to sit down and write a letter to boring-old-me.” She placed emphasis on the boring and we both laughed, a joke from our ninth grade history professor who stressed each day that history was not boring and old – something I hadn’t agreed with until recently.
“Of course I’ll write you often, you’re my closest friend Julie and I want you to at least be able to live somewhat vicariously through me until you’re able to take a trip of your own.”
We laughed at that, the tension in the air dissipated like the smoke from our cigarettes, silently we appreciated the few moments we had left together, watching the airplanes float serenely down from the sky just to take back off again – like little metallic birds swooping down to catch a fish.
She parked at the drop-off zone of the airport and I quickly got out and grabbed my bag, the sign clearly said NO PARKING in large red letters and there was a flagger ahead of us looking warily at Julie as though she was going to deflate her tires and let the car rot there until it rusted to nothing. Looking over at her I saw she was staring softly in my direction, seemingly lost in thought again. I pulled my bag up higher over my shoulder and rounded the car to her, she hugged me tightly and whispered something in my ear that I couldn’t quite hear over the roar of jet engines powering up and down the landing strips. I shouted at her, “What?” But she just smiled at me and pointed to the huge revolving doors into the check-in counters. I smiled at her and went toward them, turning back once to look at her but her little Honda was already speeding off into the distance, I could swear I heard the little pop of the lighter clicking into place.
Entering the airport I was greeted by the stale air that always seems to be present when dealing with anything aircraft related and the milling about of a few dozen people. A mother and daughter were rushing towards their gate, the little girl steering her small red bag in front of her like a shopping cart. Laughing a little at the scene I spotted my carrier and went through the zig-zag of cordoned off lines to arrive behind an old man wearing a peacoat who was sporting a rather nice leather briefcase. Businessman. He seemed to be an old hat at this sort of thing and I was rewarded for my presumption as the clerk at the counter greeted him knowingly, “Hello Mr. Fritz! Back on the road again?”
He nodded curtly and greeted her, “Yes indeed, they have me flying so often I should buy stock in your company, God knows I alone could keep you in business.”
She laughed good-naturedly and he presented his credentials to her. The desks were all vacant with the exception of her so I dropped my bag on the floor and continued to watch their interactions vacantly.
“We seem to have two open first class seats, I can probably pull a string or two and get you in there cheap, if it would make the flight more pleasing.”
He grunted and nodded his approval with a terse “Thanks.”
She began pounding away and clicking with such ferocity I was sure she would either start a fire or break her computer. After minutes of this frenzied activity she grinned widely, showing her perfectly straight pearly teeth and exclaimed, “I’ve done it!” The sound of an antiquated printer began and a few moments later she slapped a staple into his ticket, placed it inside its jacket, and handed it to him with another smile.
“Please enjoy your trip sir, and thanks again for flying with us today.”
“Always a pleasure when you’re here my dear. Thank you.”
With this he picked up his briefcase and ticket and departed toward his flight. She tapped a few more strokes against her keyboard before looking at me with yet another smile, “Hello sir, can I help you?”
I walked up to the counter and dropped my bag lightly at my feet, “Yes, please, I’m on flight 217 to England.” Pulling out my passport I handed it to her and waited while she began typing away. Click click.
“I see…” she began, “Looks like I have one first class seat available for this flight, would you like to upgrade to first class for one hundred fifty dollars or two hundred fifty thousand miles?” She enunciated each number very clearly and I was sure she had been doing this for a while.
Thinking for a moment about my credit card statement and my available funds I felt inclined to splurge, then remembered my overheard conversation moments ago I asked, “I don’t suppose it’s the same flight that the gentleman before me was on?”
“I can’t really say you know,” she dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “but yes.”
We both smiled as new friends do, and I decided to try and push my luck, “I don’t suppose you could work your magic with that keyboard and put me in there free, could you?”
Her smile dropped only slightly, of course I didn’t expect to receive the same treatment as a regular but, I thought, there was no harm in asking.
“Well, I’m really not supposed to… but, well hold on one moment.”
Her fingers verily flew across the gray plastic keyboard and I saw her bite her lip slightly in concentration, I always thought this was a very cute trait, and I waited patiently while gazing unknowingly at her lips. “Well, I see that we have almost all passengers checked in, so, well let me see something.”
She began typing again at a much faster pace, her hand clicked away on the mouse and I thought for a moment she was hunting something on the screen, so serious was her focus.
“This is my first time out of the country.” I added, hoping it would sway her a bit more in my favor.
“England’s beautiful! Wonderful history! Oh and the castles. I could live forever in one of those castles.” She was very excited and I was glad to find someone who shared my crush on the country.
“Isn’t it though! I just read this book, what was it called… oh! I have it here in my bag, I was planning on re-reading it while on the plane but since I’ve found a kindred soul in love of England, maybe I should pass it on to you. Hold on one moment.”
Rummaging about in my carry-on bag I found the book nestled between a few candy bars and a tightly rolled clean shirt. Picking it out thoughtfully I turned it over once in my hands before presenting it to her. “Here, please enjoy it.”
“I’m not really supposed to take anything from customers – other than their bags” She added jokingly.
“Oh who will know, tell you what, I’ll just leave it here on the counter, just another forgetful customer, and you can take it home. If you want you can return it to me when I come back.”
A smile slowly lit her face until it turned into a wide grin. She clicked once and tapped her keyboard with four deliberate strokes and said, “There we go!” The printer once again whirred to life and she grabbed my ticket, still warm from printing, clicked a staple into it, placed it its jacket and handed it to me.
“Thank you for flying with us today, all of us wish you a safe trip,” She then added, “and thanks for the book!”
“Thank you,” I paused, looking at her name-tag, “Thank you Megan, please enjoy it.”
She smiled again and I turned away, looking back once at her I saw the book open on her desk, eyes already scanning over the pages longingly.
Glancing at my ticket I saw that I needed to head to gate A-12, I moved through the airport at a relaxed pace, glancing around and looking at the overpriced shops. Seeing a luggage store I was struck by the oddness of selling luggage at an airport, was it a common occurrence for people to show up carrying their belongings in their hand and then, realize that it would make a lot more sense to pack it all in a suitcase, purchase one? “A question for the ages.” I remarked aloud to no one.
“What is?” I turned to the left and saw Mr. Fritz, the businessman, leaning against the screens showing arrival / departure information.
I was a bit shocked, but quickly explained to my fellow first-class companion, “Well, why anyone purchase luggage at an airport? I’ve never heard of anyone coming to an airport without luggage and, only in the last few moments before their flight, purchase luggage to carry their things. It seems like a ridiculous idea.”
He laughed, a sound we both found a bit shocking. Nodding slowly he began, “You know, I’ve always wondered the same thing.” We both smiled at our newfound similarity.
“I’m on your flight, you travel a lot on business?”
“Indeed, can’t say it’s terribly interesting–” He paused, debating something internally, “–My job isn’t even necessary, I go to business partners and basically wine and dine them for a night to improve relations between my company and theirs, at the end of it they sign a contract that could be faxed over to us just as easily and a lot cheaper. Just one of those things.” He added somberly.
“Well, I’m off to check in at the gate, I’ll see you on board.”
He stopped me with an upraised hand, “Won’t board for another few hours, delayed due to bad weather. Not the real story, but after a while you get to see past what they tell you on these things. Officially it’s bad weather, but really there’s probably some aircraft maintenance, a flat tire, maybe they’re hoping to fill in the last few slots with other passengers. It happens all the time. Join me for a drink?”
There wasn’t much for me to say, a drink would certainly help me nod off during the flight and I enjoyed the prospect of having a conversation with a stranger. It was hard for me to make friends, even acquaintances really, I had a habit of being awkward and shy around new people. Julie had suggested my new years resolution to me, “Be more outgoing,” she had said. Finding it better than my previous inclination to “find a new girlfriend” I had agreed and so far had encountered mild successes and failures.
“Why not, I could use a drink.”
We headed off silently, his briefcase thumping softly against his right leg as we walked at a brisk pace. Traveling across the airport I saw the mother and daughter that I had seen earlier, they were sitting quietly at a table, the mother had a book opened and seemed thoroughly entranced by it, the daughter was slurping greedily at a bread-bowl full of some sort of soup. She paused only to smash a small plastic wrapper of crackers and dump them into her bowl. My companion seemed focused upon walking as I checked to see if he had seen them, he hadn’t, but feeling my gaze on him he turned to me and said, “It’s a tiny little bar, owned by a Vietnamese who left just after the war, best whiskeys in town.” I nodded in return and he added, probing, “You like whiskey?”
I certainly did, in fact the only vice I refused to give up while saving money had been my collection of fine whiskeys. There were half a dozen bottles in my cabinet at home, each less than half full, there were few things better than a nice glass of whiskey and a good book after a long day working. “Indeed I do!” I exclaimed, “My favorite is Jameson’s 18 year old, I know it’s a bit obvious but it’s in my price range. Blue label’s another good one.”
He laughed at this, “Boy, tonight you’re in for a treat.”
Not quite understanding what he meant I smiled back with a bit of trepidation. He seemed to have a new air of life in him and I could feel excitement radiate toward me. Our already brisk step increased in tempo as we entered the end of the concourse, the shops down here were all closed with the exception of a small neon sign plastered next to a small door. It read simply “In” in slightly diluted orange letters.
Mr. Fritz opened the door and nodded me inside. I was greeted by a second door and the smell of wood. Opening this door I saw a tiny dark bar, there were three booths against the right wall, all empty, and a short bar on the left, behind which hundreds of bottles of liquors were lined up haphazardly under the dim light. The cherry of the bars wood shone a deep red, reminding me of blood and wine in an instant. Thoughts of English knights in battle sprung to mind as I smelled the light scent of smoke in the air. Battlefields crossed my mind as we moved forward, my guide sat down and motioned to the stool next to him. Zipping open the front pouch of my bag I placed my ticket and passport inside before setting it on the stool next to me. There was still no sign of the owner.
Fritz knocked lightly on the bar twice and spoke a name that sounded like Bin. Hearing a squeak in the back of the bar I focused my still unadjusted eyes toward it and saw a short balding man enter. He couldn’t have been over 5 feet tall, a shock of black hair stood on his head looking slightly greasy in the light. Upon seeing Fritz he shouted, “Hello my friend how are you!” His English was impeccable, he clapped my partner on the shoulder and gave me a sidelong look, as though to ask “Who is this?”
“A fellow traveler and whiskey lover. Though the boy has inexpensive taste I believe I can cure him of it with a little help from you.”
Bin nodded and grinned viciously. He turned around and began pulling bottles down off the shelf, stacking them on the small counter. Fifteen, twenty, thirty five. I gave up trying to count and simply watched his organization – or rather lack thereof. He had pulled down vodka, bourbon, an empty bottle of wine, a huge black bottle that was unidentified by any label, and countless others. Once there was almost no room left on the counter I saw he had reached the back wall, he pressed slightly in on the wood and was greeted by a small click. Bin pulled out a stool from below the counter and stood on it; pulling the secret cache open wide I saw a deep recess lit from within by a tiny red light. “Chivas or the fine Lady?” He asked, seeming almost reverent in his tone toward the two names.
“We’ll start with our Lady, she’s a good intro to a real drink.” Fritz was smiling as he turned to me, “It’s your lucky night, Bin is a collector of some of the finest drinks available, I rarely have the time to come here anymore but when I am blessed by a delay I come here for a bit of life.”
I smiled back, still a bit nervous, these were most assuredly out of my price range and I wasn’t sure if I was being treated or was expected to pay for it. Putting these thoughts out of my mind seemed impossible so I spoke quietly, “I’m on a bit of a budget… I’m not sure I can afford–” Fritz cut me off with a wave of his hand.
“–You’re here as my guest, a fellow traveler. Consider your payment conversation, an old man like me can indulge the youth a bit. It would be a shame if you waited fifty years to encounter this when I first did.”
I smiled my agreement and, seeking to both fulfill my side of the arrangement and feed my curiosity I opened up.
“What’s the ‘Lady,’ where is it from? What kind of whiskey is it?”
Fritz and Bin shared a knowing smile, Bin began, “First of all, She is always called the Lady, not ‘it’ – she deserves the respect you’d show your mother. She comes from Scotland, as almost all great whiskeys do. There are 300 bottles sold a year,” He stopped and Fritz continued, “Each of these bottles are only sold to returning customers, so you can imagine how impossible it is to come by, perhaps one of the most coveted whiskeys in the world. Memberships are handed down through generations and are increasingly hard to come by. A bottle sells for 2500 Euro, give or take. Bin here was lucky enough to come by six bottles after sharing his love with a man with a large amount of generosity and too-few friends.”
Bin nodded at this and continued, “She’s a single malt, you know how to drink whiskey?”
I nodded, having purchased a fine tumbler for just this purpose, and having read a few books on how to appreciate the drink more.
“Show me.” Bin pulled out three glasses of differing sizes and shapes, a delicate tumbler that curved elegantly up at a perfect angle, a wine glass that stood proudly on its slender stem, and a squarish looking glass that seemed clunky in comparison to the others. I pointed at the tumbler, seeing two nods of approval in return. Bin picked up the bottle and slowly eased out the cork, he poured about two ounces into the glass with reverence, all of us marveled as the amber liquid slowly settled in the glass. She seemed to beckon me to her, like a lover reclining beautifully in a perfectly made bed, my heart thumped loudly in my chest – so loud I was sure they could both hear it.
I picked up the glass and swirled it slightly, watching it run down the sides slowly, almost like caramel. The dim light seemed to enhance the sexuality of the drink, feeling as though I was in a movie I held it up to eye level, searching for the impurities floating within it that I knew didn’t exist, setting it down again on the counter I asked for water. Fritz nodded and Bin poured it from a blue glass bottle into one of the unused cups next to me. Tipping two drops of it into her we all watched the ripples as the drink opened itself up to us. Raising the glass once again I inhaled deeply her scent, the deep breath felt like fingers lightly running down my spine, unlocking the tension I had unknowingly been storing within myself. I sighed deeply as my eyes welled up both from the moment and the strength of her body. The flavors my nose had encountered were nothing like those I had experienced in the past when nosing other drinks, they seemed to speak of the Scottish countryside, the rolling hills and beautiful castles all blended together into an image more beautiful than anything I had ever encountered.
I picked up the glass with great care and slowly brought it to my lips, sensing that they were both holding their breath I tipped the glass and let a small portion into my mouth, letting it cascade around my tongue. The flavors unleashed themselves upon me, tripping senses I didn’t know existed within myself. Love, it was love that I was tasting, feeling the smooth drink warm up slowly in my mouth I thought of England, feeling the warmth around my teeth I was reminded of my first kiss – awkward and strange, but still so exciting and new. My heart pounded the same as it did then, thumping in my chest as I experienced something new, something I never knew existed until this moment. The liquid became hot in my mouth and I let it slide slowly down my throat, it slowly coursed down, warming as though it were fire throughout my entire body. The heat extended down my arms to my fingertips, which began to tingle, through my stomach and into my heart, causing it to slow its excited palpitations, and finally down my legs to each of my toes, which I clenched against my shoes in ecstasy.
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UpdateOne
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“I think our friend has fallen in love Bin.” Fritz quietly said. Bin hummed in agreement and I felt myself slowly come back to the scene I was in, like a diver emerging from the depths of some unexplored region of the arctic I was changed.
“Th-thank you.” I managed, stuttering over my words like a child while Fritz smiled at me.
“Don’t mention it, I’d ask you what you think but I could see it on your face, you fell in love with our Lady.
Nodding my slow agreement I was struck by the unusualness of this scene, sitting in a bar that looked like a speak-easy straight out of the 20′s, being treated to a drink that probably cost more than my entire trip to Europe would and having a love affair with yet another object; all of this when thirty minutes ago I was expecting a long, probably uneventful, flight to London. Strange things happen, I thought to myself, but they had rarely happened to me.
“Now for your end of the bargain, let’s switch to something a bit lighter, if you don’t mind, we have a few hours before our flight and I’m in the mood for a nice sleep once I get on board,” Fritz commanded, adding, “Bin, take a night off on me and join us. Bring that blend that I had last December, you remember the one? Yes, that will do nicely.”
Bin shuffled around behind the bar for a moment, as he turned around to search for Fritz’s drink I noticed a bright white scar on his neck descending below his collar toward his chest. Wondering if it was a sensitive subject I felt obliged to look away; an awkward feeling arose in me simply for noticing it. Seeking to distract myself from this I probed Fritz, “What should I talk about? If you don’t mind, I’m not the best conversationalist.”
With a stern gaze settled firmly upon the bottles being shuffled about in front of him he responded impatiently, “Why don’t you start with what you’re doing in London.”
Nodding my agreement I began, “I recently fell in love with the country, England that is, and I have been reading about it, or, I mean, I’ve been reading up on the country in a variety of ways…” I paused, feeling very much like a naïve youth compared to these two grown up men. Fritz was now eyeing me with the utmost intensity, clearly waiting for me to continue. I gulped my apprehension down and tried again.
“It’s a fascinating country, the history there is centuries old, so much happened there that the United States never experienced, or at least it was never written down here, you know, because of the oral traditions of the people living here. Anyway, let me start over,” Fritz nodded his agreement and I found that Bin had placed himself on the other side of me, my bag having moved down a seat to allow him, looking ahead again I found a drink in front of me and I gladly took a gulp. The warmth spread through me, invigorating my tongue and calming my senses to a relaxed state.
“I’ve never wanted much, I had a decent job since I can remember, it pays okay and the hours are flexible with my school schedule. Thing is, I never really needed to spend money on anything, other than rent, food and drink, and the occasional surprise expense I found that most of my money was accumulating interest in the bank. Someday, I had thought to myself, I would find something that I wanted and I’d be able to afford it, or at least, be able to jumpstart my work toward it–” Pausing to clear my throat and take another small taste of the drink in front of me I saw my companions’ reflections in the bottles in front of me, each bending wildly as though we were in a carnival’s house of mirrors. Bin’s eyes shown like two opals in the dim light, Fritz had his eyes cast down into his glass and was swirling it vacantly.
Not sure of how long I had been staring at them I continued loudly, breaking my own trance.
“–So then, this past term, I had a history class that was focused on England. The history there is startling, so much death and chaos – but even out of all of it there were marvelous advances. Sorry, I won’t get distracted and bore you with the details of my love affair, although I must admit it is just that. A love affair with a country.” At this I laughed and I heard Bin chuckle appreciatively, seeking to turn this into less of a one sided conversation I turned to face him, “You know what I mean then?”
Bin nodded like molasses pours, slowly, grudgingly, and then spoke with a soft voice, “I know, I have been here more years than you’ve lived and I still love my country, miss it. The way the sun rose over the trees in the morning, the sound of the birds conducting each-other in concert every day. The smells of the market, the carts and the bikes,” He paused and I could swear tears had welled up in his eyes but it could have just been a trick of the light. He tipped his own glass back and finished the finger of liquid still in it. Sighing deeply he finished his thought, “Yes, I know that kind of love.”
Realizing I had my back turned to Fritz for quite some while the awkwardness of speaking to our sides dawned on me. “Shall we move to a booth?” I asked quietly, not wanting to disturb my new acquaintances.
Fritz nodded slowly and, grabbing the bottle of amber, retreated to the table directly behind us. As we settled in, Fritz and Bin on one side, me their opposite Fritz spoke, more softly this time, “So you fell in love.”
“Yes, yes, that’s right. I fell in love.”
“And so you decided to travel to England to see if she loves you too?” There was a mocking hint in his question. Once again I felt young and stupid. Fortunately Bin saved me from this embarrassment with a cluck of his tongue.
“Leave the boy alone Tim, we both know what you’ve done for a woman.”
The tension in the room was palpable, I could see Fritz’s back tense up and his hand unknowingly clenched tightly around his glass. Knuckles white I was afraid he would crush the glass in his thick fingers. Bin pressed, “Tell him, it’s a good story and you know you love telling it.”
Fritz seemed frozen in thought, he mindlessly poured another splash into his glass and tipped a few drops of water in it. He seemed to compose himself by this obviously familiar movement, and began slowly and without emotion.
“It was the summer of 89, just before the quake in San Francisco, I had just been promoted to the position I’m in right now, though the title was different back then. One of my trips across the country put me into contact with a potential client. A huge name, the biggest we had ever dealt with, my boss had told me this would be the biggest deal our company would ever see, nearly tripling our investments, my promotion came with the price of making this go through. There was an unspoken threat behind the job, if it fell through I’d be out. No screw-ups was the last thing he said to me before I got on the plane.”
Fritz tapped his glass gently, I saw a wedding band that had gone previously unnoticed, a solid gold ring tightly trapped on his finger behind the knuckle. It looked like the rings placed upon cormorants in Japan. A traditional fishing method that preventing them from eating the fish they caught. Thinking about birds I barely noticed as he continued his story.
“So here I was, fairly young and cocky but a hard worker put in a position that could either end with me taking it all or losing everything. Back then I played a lot of poker, bet on the track, I was a bit of a spendthrift and I loved taking chances, I resolved to do everything I could to succeed. I arrived in San Francisco late at night, a car was waiting for me to take me to an expensive hotel. The hotel was beautiful and I felt like a rockstar, entering my room I saw that a letter was waiting for me from the office, placed squarely on the center of the lavish wood desk, the single light in the room illuminating my name upon its front. I ordered a drink from the bell-hop who had helped me to my room and sat down to open it. Unfolding the letter I saw that I would be meeting with a representative from the company the next day over lunch, and that I would be agreeable to any further meetings they so desired. My drinks arrived and I tossed the letter in the trash, drinking and watching the weather report about Hurricane Hugo until I fell asleep.”
He cleared his throat and drank quietly, letting it sit in his mouth a long time before finally swallowing. “The next day I had a nice breakfast, showered and shaved my two-day stubble, and put on one of the suits I had brought. It was dark blue with a somewhat cocky steel tie, looking at myself in the mirror I felt like the epitome of virility and manhood, I was cocky back then, something that age has sobered in me.” At this we all chuckled a bit before he cut us off with a tap of his finger on the glass.
“The front desk called me an hour later and announced my car had arrived. I checked myself one last time in the mirror and straightened my already perfect tie. Downstairs a spotless black town car was waiting, getting inside I was surprised to see someone already inside. A woman, probably in her early twenties with long curly brown hair sitting around her shoulders. Not sure of what to make of this I was shocked as she held out her hand and introduced herself, ‘Mr. Fritz, so wonderful of you to come all this way, we’re really looking forward to working with you. I’m Elizabeth.’ She spoke with such rapidity that all of this was exchanged while we shook hands firmly twice, she had a strong grip – the kind of grip I had, firm and confident.
She continued on, ‘Do you have a preference as to where we dine? I wasn’t able to find out if you had been to San Francisco before and perhaps a favorite restaurant?’
Honestly I felt a bit shaken by this woman and, hoping to retake a bit of my confidence I suggested a five-star restaurant I had read about, a French owned place whose prices showed clearly its prominence. She smiled in agreement, her pearly teeth gleaming in the dark car like the Cheshire cat’s.
We spoke little as we took the ten minutes or so to arrive, walking to the front she spoke loudly to the host. ‘I have a reservation for two at 12:30 under Elizabeth K. We’d like to be seated immediately please’
My jaw quite literally dropped at this. Had she predicted my suggestion? Or did she have reservations at all possible restaurants in the area? This woman was certainly startling and I found myself more interested in her by the moment, losing my focus upon the job.
We were seated and she allowed me to suggest drinks, nodding her approval at my choice. Before getting to business I had to subdue my question about the restaurant. She laughed at my question and said that she had known I would choose this place, qualifying it by saying that it wasn’t the obvious choice, but that it showed character and attention to detail that most young men wouldn’t have. Two and a half hours later, after a handful of drinks and a delicious meal we came to a standstill. Her company, she said, refused to budge on the terms as they stood, and I couldn’t promise anything more than I already had. She suggested, at length, that we talk again over dinner once I had some time to think over the arrangement. Her smile lingered on me and I felt a thrill of excitement rush through me. It had only taken a meal and a few impressive actions by her, but I felt so excited by her charm and intelligence that I knew I would do anything to have her.”
At this Bin coughed softly, Fritz turned to him and sighed out, “All right Bin, I was trying to retain a bit of my dignity in front of our young guest. What I meant to say was that I had fallen for her the moment I entered the car. Never before had I encountered such a woman as this and I knew that I would do anything for her.”
“And did you?” I couldn’t help but ask the question that was burning through my head, so enamored by the story I had forgotten everything else.
Fritz turned his ring around on his finger thoughtfully before turning his hand to look at his watch.
“Perhaps, but our flight is about to board and we should get going.”
The youth in me cried out no, but my maturity and shyness overcame it and I nodded in slight agreement, letting out a deep sigh.
I thanked Bin deeply, bowing slightly to him while extending my hand. He smiled and nodded his acceptance with a deeper bow of his own. Picking up my bag I followed Fritz who was already past the door, I turned back once and took in the sight of the bar once again before leaving, feeling as though I had missed something while idly talking away the hours. The thought passed as I heard the second door close with a thud behind me and I trotted outside hastily.
