Chapters (43)
She’s nice and sweet and, surprisingly, impervious to my advances.
“When is Paul coming out?” I ask.
“In two days,” she says with her face lighting up at the sound of her boyfriend’s name.
“You think you’ll be able to get him to stay?” I ask.
I know she wants him to, and I also know that he has his reservations.
“I hope so,” Imogen says, making three drinks at once.
Paul is a computer engineer and there aren’t many jobs in his field around here.
According to her, this is the biggest obstacle in their relationship.
She wants to stay here indefinitely and he wants to live the normal life they had back in Vancouver. Their situation is the perfect example of irreconcilable differences but I don’t have the heart to tell her that it’s probably not going to work out.
“I hope so, too,” I say, finishing the second beer.
Due to the plethora of British expats, soccer tends to dominate the screens and today is no exception.
After ordering another beer, I make my way in between the tables toward the bathroom.
My eyes drift over the room and at the second television near the window. That’s when I see it.
It’s a picture of me with my real name and the word Wanted on the top.
My heart jumps into my chest, but I keep walking.
Right before I disappear behind the corner, I see Art Hedison giving an interview.
I rush into the bathroom and find an empty stall. Locking the door, I try to figure out what to do.
“What the fuck is going on?” I whisper under my breath.
No, no, no, no. This isn’t happening.
I take a few deep breaths to calm myself down and then exit the room.
I already ordered a beer and I still need to pay my tab so I can’t just walk out without drawing even more attention to myself.
“Hey, do you mind if I change the channel?” I ask the group of couples doing shots underneath the TV with my face on it.
None of them are watching it and I already have my finger on the remote when a tall guy nearby gives me a brief nod of approval.
I flip it to another soccer game, knowing that at least one patron will object if anyone were to change it in the future.
When I get to the bar, I give the beer that has been waiting for me to the girl who takes a seat to my right. Normally, I would make small talk and try to get her to come home with me but not tonight.
“See you later, Imogen!” I yell, leaving her a generous tip.
“You leaving already?” She calls back to me when I’m already near the front door.
“Something came up.” I shrug casually and leave.