The bar in Red's hotel was so incredibly beautiful – everything was elegant grey and silver, highlighted with bold black accents and fixtures. After taking her seat at the bar and looking around in awe, the bartender approached her, breaking her aesthetic trance. Usually she would have ordered whatever white wine she recognized from the menu, but this time she consulted the bartender. Drastic times called for drastic measures.
"I am about to have a complicated conversation with… someone," she started explaining, hesitantly. "And I need to be relaxed but not too relaxed, if you know what I mean."
The bartender raised an eyebrow at her, obviously curious.
"Business or… extracurricular?" the bartender asked.
"Well," Liz said, wrinkling her nose a bit at the realization. "It's both."
"Man or woman?"
"Man," Liz answered.
"I have just the thing, I'll be right back," the bartender said confidently, pushing open the swinging door to the back room. While she waited, Liz evaluated her outfit. Sure, she could have worn that dress and gotten the upper hand but that wouldn't have done it. That was his favorite dress; she would be wearing it for him. Instead, she wore her favorite jeans, fresh out of the dryer.
The bartender came back with a sweating glass of clear liquid, clinking with ice cubes. Vodka. Why didn't I think of that; perfect. Strong but undetectable.
"This," the woman said, setting the glass on Liz's napkin, "will be your best friend."
The two women smiled at each other conspiratorially as Liz lifted the glass to her lips and took a long sip.
"Wow… uh, that's really smooth."
"That's because it's ice water," the woman said, smiling. Liz sputtered, laughing into her glass. "You are an intelligent woman, I can tell. And I'll share with you a bit of wisdom my mother shared with me: no woman ever got what she really wanted by smoothing her edges for a man."
"You may have missed your calling as a life coach," Liz said, smiling.
"The job description is basically the same," she replied, suddenly looking a bit wistful. "And the money is certainly better. But my ex-husband was jealous of all the attention I got from men and he hated the long hours. He even convinced me to quit for a short time."
"What happened?" Liz asked.
"Like I said," the bartender answered with a cocked eyebrow. "Ex-husband."
"I have one of those myself," Liz said, raising her glass in recognition. "I only plan on making that mistake once."
"None of us plan on doing it even once, do we?" the bartender said, leaning on the bar. "But we keep getting back on that horse. We dust ourselves off… but we learn to hold on tighter to the reins."
Liz nodded, thanking the bartender as she left to wait on another patron. She left a twenty dollar bill tucked under her empty glass and stepped into the lobby, scanning the area quickly for Red's face.
What was it that she really wanted? What did she even hope to gain from coming here?
She only knew that she could not keep working with Red if her relatively polite requests for information were falling on deaf and dismissive ears. Her pride would not allow for that any longer – each day that she remained a complacent partner while he withheld information, she was loosening the reins. But he had offered her the opportunity for answers tonight. Of course that wasn't really the only thing he was offering, and it wasn't the only thing she was after either, if she was being honest. Her baser curiosities about him were starting to get in the way of work just as much as his little game of keep away.
She remembered the anger she had felt that morning, watching him with Samar. If she felt any softness or attraction to him, it was going to make her slip up again, eventually. And she could not afford that, personally or professionally. One way or another it would be hashed out, and as strange as it was this might be her best option for doing it on her own terms.
But for a moment she fantasized about leaving the hotel – walking out the front doors and standing him up just to see what he would do. She imagined him marching into her office in the morning, demanding to know why she didn't show up, his face would be red and his veins pulsating. Knowing that Red was too much the master of emotions to ever show his hand in that way, she let her mind run on just a bit longer. He would cross the room, grab both the arms of her chair, lean so close she could smell his aftershave… he would lay his emotions bare for her… profess that he loved her. Pin her against the wall and kiss her passionately.
But even in her fantasy she knew he wasn't capable of that. His impenetrable exterior wasn't going to give her that glimpse of him. She'd have to break down those walls herself.
And then, there it was.
That fucking hat.
Striding through the lobby, he took it off and shook the rain from it.
It was 6:55pm.
Every instinct that she was used to indulging told her to turn around, pretend that she hadn't seen him, run away and make him think she didn't care. But it was too late.
"Just in time!" Red said, greeting her happily. If he had doubted for a moment that she would show up, he did not betray it to her. His lack of surprise wounded her… it made her feel weak. Maybe she had given in too easily. "I am having some tea brought up in about fifteen minutes."
"I came here to tell you that I don't think this is a good idea," she said, trying to keep her shoulders square, her neck long. He couldn't think that he got to her that easily.
"I think that if that were the case, you would not have come all the way here in the pouring rain."
She could feel herself scowl at him; he knew her too well. He took a step toward her, reaching out to touch her elbow. Not in an attempt to guide her away, but instead letting his hand linger, working its way slowly down to her hand where he ran his thumb over her wrist… her scar. She felt herself relax.
"I don't intend to hurt your pride, Lizzie." His voice was near a whisper, his eyes trained on hers. "We cannot continue to draw lines in the sand and expect it to yield a result with which either of us is truly happy. I think we could both benefit from some transparency. That's all I'm hoping for."
"I think that might be harder for you than it will be for me," she said, her eyes dancing across his face.
"You might be surprised at how open I can be when I am the one to extend the offer," he said, tilting his head.
"Alright, fine," Liz said, letting go of a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "I hope you ordered chamomile, though. I intend to be in bed at a decent hour."
"As do I," he said as they started toward the elevator.
"My own bed," Liz said, pointedly. Red laughed genuinely, shaking his head.
"Your tendency to jump to conclusions makes me wonder how you ever chose this line of work, Agent Keen. If I had invited you over with that intention, I would have allowed for more time."
"Jesus, it's seven. What time do you go to sleep? Seven forty five?" Liz asked, looking at her watch.
"Midnight, generally," he said nodding in that matter-of-fact way of his, smiling as he watched her face.
"Bullshit," Liz said, barking a laugh.
"You should know better than to ask if you don't want an answer," he said.
"Yes, because you giving me answers when I ask for them is exactly why we're having this little chat tonight," Liz said sarcastically, pressing the silver button in the marble elevator bay. He placed a hand on her back, leading her toward the opening elevator door.
"Don't give up on me just yet, Lizzie."
His answer was playful but she thought she sensed a hint of sadness in his tone.
"I won't."
